


A New History

by eadunne2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Dean, Brother Feels, Demons, Depression, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic, Enchanter Dean, Eventual Smut, Family, Fights, Friendship, Friendship/Love, King Arthur/Supernatural, Love, M/M, Magic, Marking, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Build, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Switching, Tattoos, Temporary Character Death, Top Castiel, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 61,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4431788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eadunne2/pseuds/eadunne2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthurian Supernatural crossover.<br/>Dean and Sam join Cas in breaking the curse that has been killing off their family for centuries. </p><p>Needless to say, they get more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to my work wife Joey who helped me map my mind and then listened to me lose it, slowly and messily, for like two goddamn years.

He remembers sitting on the counter while his mother did the dishes. She’d twitch a finger and giant bubbles would swell from the water and bounce around him, off his palms, his nose, his knees. Sometimes she’d turn them different colors, sometimes different shapes. Once, she'd made a bubble big enough to encompass him, and he sat inside it while she washed, listening to her voice and watching her face through the rainbowy sheen.

When he scraped his knees on the playground, she was there with a soft word and a soothing hand that closed the cuts and dried the blood. When Sammy lay awake at night, her kiss on his forehead was enough to sink him into sleep.

When their neighbor’s husband died, Mrs. Clark had appeared on their doorstep weeping and begging for Mary to let her “talk to him one last time.” His mother had taken her into the bedroom for a long while, and Dean heard a man’s voice and smelled metal from beneath the door.

She’d sit with him on the back porch in the evenings after school, and together they’d make tiny clouds drop rain down over the garden, pluck flowers with invisible fingers from across the lawn, coax the little apple tree to grow, grow, grow, so that by the end of summer, Dean could have fresh apple pie.

She's clearest to him in these memories, the smell of laundry detergent, the thin blue veins on the back of her soft hands, the tiny creases at the corners of her eyes. His dad always spoke about how she was like the sun, and the feeling of her warmth at his side as he felt the power flow through his body like water was almost better than the magic itself.

“It’s in your blood, Dean,” she’d say. “It’s who you are. Whether you like it or not.”

-

_“Your highness,” he pleaded. “Don’t.” He stood darker and a few inches taller than the king before him, but genuflected in a way that made it clear who was in charge._

_“She left,” the king said. “What is a king without a queen?”_

_With a huff the man said, “Exactly as you were before, Arthur. You know this.”_

_The king shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “The criers in the street seem to think otherwise.”_

_“Forget them. The people love their king.”_

_“A childless nomad? No.” His eyes hardened. “No, I will have her.”_

_“She belongs to another.”_

_“Did that stop Gwen?”_

_The dark haired man sighed, defeated, and said softly, “This isn’t in your character, highness. And it certainly isn’t love.”_

_Sadness colored the king’s voice. “What of love? You and Vivi? Your lover and yet she harbors poisonous jealousy of our friendship. Not that you’re hard on the eyes,” the king teased, and the other man blushed before he continued more seriously: “But we have been but brothers from the start. Now I hardly see you; she keeps you to herself. That feels like love to you?”_

_The mage’s voice was low, dangerous as he spoke, power crackling in the cool air. “You leave Vivaine out of this. What we have...it’s none of your business.”_

_“None of my business?” The king sounded a little hurt. “I suppose it’s none of my business that my oldest friend is under the thumb of a petty little witch, and his student at that.”_

_There was a growl from the dark haired man, and he turned, hurling a shard of light at the wall of the throne room and watching stone fly out in little chips. His shoulders heaved and his fists curled at his sides, a thin trickle of blood oozing from his throwing hand. He didn’t look at his friend, now slumped timidly in the throne._

_“Enchanter. I shouldn’t have...you love her.” He paused. “And she you. But these dreams of late...I dream of her. She curses us all.”_

_“It’s nothing but a dream, majesty.” The mage did not sound convinced._

_“You know better than anyone, my friend. They are never just dreams.”_

_For long moments neither man spoke. Finally the enchanter tucked his hands into his tunic and sighed. In a monotone that caused them both anguish he said, “You do what you will, highness. I am but your servant.”_

_He moved to leave the room without looking back and the king called out for him frantically._

_“Merlin!”_

_The dark haired man kept walking and scoffed as if disgusted, blue eyes flashing in the fading light. “You know how I feel about that moniker.”_

_“Damn it! Castiel!”_

\--

Dean hadn’t used magic in years.

He barely remembered the feeling, like a cool, damp breeze rushing through him. For a while after John’s murder it would slip out without his noticing. A cloaking spell for bruises, a mending charm for Sammy’s aging sneakers. Eventually, though, he managed to shove it down completely, and the only time he felt magic now was in his dreams.

These days his mission was to keep his head down. Make enough money to keep their tiny, shitty apartment. Save for Sam’s college fund.

And to stay invisible from the thing that killed their mother.

When John was still alive it had been simpler. He made the decisions and Dean simply followed. Sam was precocious of course, but even dealing with him became routine. The speech about not using magic, about keeping quiet and staying invisible slipped out of Dean’s mouth like a record on repeat.

“We can’t. He’ll find us. Do you want to end up like mom?”

“Dean-o!”

Pamela’s voice startled him into focus and he grinned at her. He’d been working at the restaurant a while now, and Pam was definitely one of the better bosses he’d had.

“Pam! Lookin’ lovely today.”

She rolled her eyes but he caught the beginnings of a smile on her lips as she turned away.

“Shameless,” she muttered.

“Absolutely,” he grinned.

John had died when he was barely seventeen. Murdered by the same thing that took their mother, but since Dean and his brother had unintentionally lured the demon to their father it seemed like a fact to overlook. As if sensing the topic of his thoughts, Pam asked, “How’s that brother of yours?”

The smile snuck across Dean’s face before he noticed.

“Principal’s Scholar again this semester. If he keeps this up next year he’ll graduate valedictorian.”

“Good. I like that boy.”

“Yeah, he’s alright.” He was sure Pam heard the fondness in his voice, but she didn’t comment.

“Get the glasses from the back and wipe ‘em down, would ya?”

Dean saluted as he passed into the kitchen. “Yes, ma’am.”

She snapped at his ass with a bar towel.

“Never ‘ma’am’. Makes me feel old.”

Luckily for him, the kitchen door swung shut on his response.

Yeah, Pam was a good one. She had a shimmer of magic about her, but Dean was a professional at ignoring that by now. She was sweet, sassy, and didn’t mind that Sam came by often, doing homework at the bar. In fact, she went so far as to give Sammy free food, and Dean was eternally grateful to anyone that fed that kid. He was growing so fast that keeping him nourished practically required a whole other salary.

Humming, he pulled a few racks of glasses from the washer and set them on the chef’s table to grab the rags. He had just shoved the drawer closed with his hip when he noticed the ringing. At first it was just that sound in your skull after a headrush, but it grew quickly.

It was excruciating. 

He crashed to his knees, gripping his head. The ringing had a tangibility to it, the way heavy bass reverberates in the chest, but this buzzing was ripping his brain apart. Surely the glasses above him were about to shatter and he wriggled away from the prep area, hoping to avoid cuts. A second before he blacked out, the ringing stopped.

Dean barely noticed he was shaking as he pulled his hands away from his ears, checking for blood, but there was none. The glasses on the counter remained intact.

“Pam! Are you ok?” he called, pushing through the door.

She blinked up from her conversation with a customer sitting at the bar.

“...Yes? Why?”

If the man hadn’t been there, Dean would’ve noticed that Pam showed no signs of distress, no acknowledgement of any discomfort at all, but the man was there, and Dean couldn’t see anything else.

“What the…?”

He gaped at the shining eyes and blinding haze of bluish white that hung around the man like mist. The light pulsed once, and then, as if Dean’s vision was adjusting, dimmed into a faint glow.

“You’re so bright,” Dean whispered.

“Dean.” Pamela sounded tense. “What the fuck?”

The man blinked in surprise, eyes no longer glowing but still entrancingly blue.

“Are you high?” came Pam’s voice at the same time the man said, “You can see it?”

Pam was glancing back and forth between the two of them. “Cas, of course he can see you, you’re sitting right there. Dean, what the fuck is your issue? Guys?”

“Cas?” Dean repeated. The man looked familiar, but he couldn’t place him.

The man shook his head and turned back to Pam. “Apologies, Pamela.” He paused. “You never mentioned you had an enchanter working for you.”

“I don’t. I...Do I?”

That snapped Dean right out of his daze.

“Nope. No you don’t. Sorry for the confusion Pam. I’ll get back to work.”

The kitchen door clipped his heel as he retreated but he didn’t feel it. No, no, no! It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He’d been careful. He’d avoided triggers. It had been years since he’d slipped up like this, but if anyone knew, then Dean needed to get he and Sammy out. Fast.

Anger overtook him, washing out the residual pain in his head from the ringing. He hadn’t even done anything. The man must have some sort of witch sight to know Dean had magic in his blood.

“FUCK!” He kicked the chef’s table before aggressively wiping down the glasses he’d pulled earlier.

Sam was a few months from graduation, and Dean had relaxed into this place despite his constant worrying. The apartment was small, but it was theirs, and between his job here at the restaurant and his early morning shift at the market, he’d settled into a routine they hadn’t had since...shit, maybe even Boston, which was years ago. Sam hadn’t even been in high school when they’d lived in Boston. When they moved, Sam had pouted for months, and though Dean didn’t allow himself to show it, he was frustrated too. It hadn’t even been their fault. No one had let any magic slip. People had just started turning up dead, people in their circle of work and school, and it was time to go.

This was much worse. They were more secure here, more at home. Sam would be...

“Goddamn it!” The glass had cracked under his unintentional squeeze and sliced into his palm. He barely felt it as he dazedly watched the blood drip in tiny splatters onto the tile. What you deserve…

“May I?”

Dean hadn’t even noticed him come in. The glowing man was no longer glowing, but there was a sense of something more about him as he stood in front of Dean with a hand outstretched.

“Fuck off. I don’t need your help.” Who the fuck was this guy? Dean turned away, wrapping his hand in a rag.

“Please.” Something about the man’s voice made him turn back in spite of his anger.

He was mere inches away, and Dean breath caught in his chest. He scowled. “Personal space, buddy.” What was his name? Cas?

The guy blinked and stepped back, but reached for Dean’s hand. “May I please? Dean?”

There was absolutely no reason for it, but Dean held his palm up anyway, watching the man with narrowed eyes. Long fingers unwound the fabric and hovered just barely over the gash.

The feeling of a cool breeze rushed through his hand, familiar, although Dean remembered that when he was the one performing the magic, he could feel the breeze from the inside out. This held a mere whisper of it, and they both watched the skin close up in silence. Strangely, Dean thought he glimpsed a ghostly whorl of magic - his?- mixing with the healing charm, but when he blinked it was gone.

The instant he felt the charm dissipate he ripped his hand away. Something flickered on Cas’s face, but he stepped even further back, and with a wave cleaned the blood from the floor.

“You are an enchanter, though,” Cas said picking right back up with the conversation they barely had in the first place.

“No.” Dean bit out the word and went back to wiping glasses.

“Yes?” Cas’s voice sounded a little lost. “You are. You saw me. Did you hear me, too?”

Surprise forced Dean to drop the charade. “That was you? That hurt like a bitch, man.”

“I’m sorry. Your body acclimated, though, correct? The sound and the light should both have faded after a moment.”

“How…?”

A shrug was all he got from the blue eyed man. The anger returned.

“Look man, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you and your fuckin’ enchanter talk just cost me my job, my apartment, my life here. I’m going to have to move, pull my brother out of school, find new IDs, it’s been years, we actually like it here and now-”

“What are you talking about?” Cas still looked confused and Dean warred with the strange desire in his chest to tell the truth for once.

He took several deep breaths. How could he possibly explain without blowing their cover? In the end, Cas explained for him.

“You haven’t purposefully worked any magic in years.” He spoke with confidence. It was sexy as hell and irritated Dean tremendously.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“If you were in practice you could’ve healed yourself. Are you running from something? Someone?”

“Are you some kind of fucking mind reader?” Dean spat.

The man shook his head a little sadly then murmured, “Not at all.” He was watching Dean with laser focus, hands moving absently at his sides. Nervous?

Relenting, Dean sighed and grabbed the rag from the table to soak it in the sink. “My brother and I, We’re...uh...just trying to keep a low profile.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Neither will Pam. She’s psychic, you know. She has much to lose as you, if someone found out about her gift.” It was unfortunate, but true. As often as people wanted magical solutions to their problems, it was still dangerously taboo to be someone who had the magic to fix them.

“No fucking way. She would’ve known about me.”

“Well, the cloaking spell you cast around yourself is one of the strongest I’ve ever seen. I’m honestly not surprised.”

“I didn’t-”

Apparently the guy was not big on social cues, because he interrupted immediately. “Not on purpose. PAM!”

The sudden shout startled Dean. Pam was barely in the door before Cas said, “Pamela, I’m going to need you to forget this ever happened.”

“Uh-huh…” She folded her arms over her chest, politely keeping her dubious look to a minimum.

“Dean is in fact an incredibly powerful enchanter. However, he’s chosen to keep that a secret, and we are going to respect his wishes in regards to this. Understood?”

Pam’s face only registered surprise for a moment, then smoothed. “Understood.”

“Would you like me to wipe your memory?” Cas offered.

“That’s an option?” Dean said incredulously.

Pam considered for a long moment before saying, “No. I’ll keep it.”

Relief swept through Dean’s entire body as he realized they were going to let it go, so powerful that his knees buckled a little before a worry forced its way in. “Look...it’s dangerous for you to know, Pam. People around me… It’s not safe. If something happened to you…”

The seriousness of the comment settled over the room, but Pam broke the tension with a soft smile. “I can take care of myself, kid.”

Cas must’ve sensed that Dean was about to start arguing because he cut in again. “Alright. Pam, let’s go over the numbers for last month and then I’ll be out of your way.”

She nodded and disappeared into her office. Cas turned, fingers extended with a business card tucked between them. “Just in case,” he murmured.

“Why are you doing this?” Dean asked, ruder than he’d intended.

Again the man was staring, for the first time at a loss for words. “I...it’s the right thing to do.” Cas’s face was blank, and Dean could tell he was lying, but by the time he opened his mouth to say something, he was gone, taking his hazy glow with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is cool. You are cooler.

Sam was already home by the time Dean got there, homework spread out over the table.

The apartment wasn’t much, but they were settling in. They each had their own room (thank god) and it was the first place they’d ever lived with enough bookshelves for the both of them. Good water pressure, air conditioning. The best part by far, though, was the kitchen. Gas stove, ample counter space, hanging racks for the pots and pans...For Dean, the tiny room was a sanctuary.

“How was school?”

Dean began pulling things from the cupboards to start dinner and Sam stretched his lanky body. His legs were so long they poked out of the other side of the table. He’d need new jeans soon.

“Fine."

“How’s Jess?” Sam had it bad for a pretty blonde in his history study group, and Dean was starting to look forward to the regular updates on her.

Sam blushed. “Also fine.”

“Fine as in fine, or fine as in fine?” Dean asked innocently.

Sam turned even more red, but responded with an embarrassed grin. “Both.”

Dean laughed. “Thata boy, Sammy.”

After an eyeroll, Sam turned back to his textbook, hair falling into his face. “How was work?”

Dean froze. “Oh, it was...uh…”

How was he supposed to explain that shit? He wasn’t even sure how he felt about any of it...Pam was a psychic? And that guy, his weirdly calm demeanor, the cool pulse of power from his fingers to Dean’s palm... As if on cue, his hand twitched.

“Dean?”

He realized he was staring off into space, a can of tomatoes in his hand.

“What happened?” Sam asked, homework abandoned. He had the beginnings of some ruthless puppy dog eyes going on, and Dean knew there was no way of getting out of the discussion.

He hated talking about shit like this, but having a meal to prepare gave him something to occupy his hands and his eyes, which made it easier. The words tumbled out in stutters and bursts where Dean tried to censor his feelings out of the series of facts. When he finished, Sam was staring at him, thoughtful.

“Do you trust them?”

“Yes.” He wasn’t sure why, especially since he knew Cas hadn’t been telling the whole truth at the end there, but his answer was immediate and honest. “I’m worried about Pam, but if she’s psychic hopefully she’ll be able to sniff out anything suspicious before it gets too out of hand.”

“And Cas?”

“I don’t...he’s not… I’m not sure,” Dean finished lamely. “He seems...fine. I honestly couldn’t really get a read on him.”

Sam nodded with a sly look. “Fine as in fine, or fine as in fine?”

To his surprise, Dean found himself blushing. “Uh...both.”

Sam grinned but Dean’s face turned serious.

“I’m sorry I slipped up Sammy. It won’t happen again.”

“Dean,” he said, exasperated. “You didn’t do anything. We don’t have to move. It’s fine.”

“Ok. Good. Ok.”

He was officially done with this discussion.

Sam snorted and Dean could practically hear his inner monologue about repressing emotions, but the moment had passed and he gratefully let it go.

\--

_“Where were you?” She was beautiful, lit softly by the yellow witch fire dancing in the hearth, but there was something wrong about her, Dean realized. Even in the dream._

_The dark haired man still stood at the door, unbuckling his belt, stripping off scabbard and outer layers of clothing. When he was finished he observed her in silence before saying, “Court.”_

_She nodded petulantly. “He’s a mess without Gwen.”_

_She opened her mouth as if to say something else but the man stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her. “As I would be without you,” he murmured._

_She rolled her eyes but returned his kiss. “You were there all night. You said you weren’t going to be doing that anymore.”_

_“Not all night,” he said, raising a brow suggestively, and the woman actually smiled._

_“Fine. But-” her voice turned serious. “I meant what I said. I won’t stay with you if you are always with him. Not as your apprentice, not as your lover.”_

_“He is my friend, Vivaine. And my king.”_

_Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t care.” A sharp crack of magic swept down her body and the man flinched, frowning. “I mean it. If this doesn’t stop...you’ll regret it, darling.”_

_“Alright, alright,” he said, brushing his hand over her hair. “I’m sorry. It will be better, I promise.”_

_She grinned with a sweetness that seemed saccharine to Dean, but he was only an observer here. “I know it.”_

\--

“You again.” Dean offered a nervous smile. It was even weirder since he’d been dreaming about the guy, but he wasn’t about to bring it up.

Cas slid behind the counter. He looked more tired than Dean remembered, but then again Dean hadn’t really been paying attention the last time they met. He was wearing slacks and a button down with a tie, but he still managed to look rumpled somehow.

“I’m here to speak with Pamela. Is she around?” Sad too. Like he was carrying something invisible, heavy.

“Why?”

“I’m an investor in this restaurant. We have some things to discuss.”

“He signs our paychecks, actually.” Pamela appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Right on.”

“Shall we, Cas?” Pam asked, and they made their way back to her office murmuring something Dean couldn’t hear.

There was no glowing or ringing this time, and Dean completely forgot about them, slipping seamlessly into the evening shift. By the time they finished their meeting, all of the four-tops were filled and Dean and the line chef were plenty busy. The other waitress, Cassie, clocked in at 5 and Dean gratefully retreated behind the bar and left the floor to her.

When Cas slid onto a stool around 6, Dean gave him a crooked smile.

“So you’re the boss, huh?”

Cas shook his head. “Hardly. It takes no work at all to invest in a promising business, and Pamela is a good manager.”

“I’ll say,” Dean said with a nod. “What do you do, then?”

When he spoke, it was carefully, weighing each word. “Sometimes I solve problems. Sometimes I invest in ideas or people that spark my interest. It usually pays off.”

“And when it doesn’t?”

“Well, loss is part of life.”

Dean gave a curt nod, feeling a little winded by the comment. Part of life, indeed.

While Cas checked his phone, Dean studied his face. He looked normal enough, in the sense that he was no longer radiating light, but he was incredibly good looking. Crinkles at the corners of his eyes softened the hard lines of his face, but he looked exhausted, too. .

Dean tried, but he sincerely couldn’t guess the guy’s age. He could be in his late twenties, he could be in his early forties. There was something timeless about him.

“You alright, man? You seem kind of down.” He felt the weight of Cas’s sadness in his own chest.

Cas’s eyes flicked to Dean’s face with an unsettling amount of focus.

“I...I’m fine,” he murmured finally.

“Yeah, right,” Dean scoffed, then bit his lip. Maybe it was a bad idea to sass the guy who signed his paychecks. There appeared to be no offense taken, though, because Cas sighed and slumped in resignation.

“I’m feeling drained lately. I’ve been working for a long time and I suppose I’m...tired.” There was a seriousness behind his voice that Dean didn’t want to read into, but couldn’t help but feel the weight of.

Dean nodded, feeling strangely empathetic. “I hear ya, man. Why don’t you try taking some time off? Do something you enjoy?”

Cas frowned. “I enjoy my work.”

“Sure, of course, I’m just saying...sometimes it helps to mix it up a little. What do you do for fun?”

“Fun.” He spoke the word as if it were new to him.

“Yeah. Fun.”

“I like to be outdoors…”

“Alright, there’s a start. Go for a hike or start a garden or some shit.”

Cas blinked at him. “I can grow a garden in an instant. How would that be relaxing?”

“Pfffft.” Dean sighed through his lips. “Way to totally miss the point, man. It’s just...good to work with your hands sometimes. Feel, smell, sweat, let your muscles ache.”

“Dean likes to fix cars when he needs to de-stress. Or read. But don’t tell anyone. Wouldn’t want to blow his cover as the cool guy.”

They both glanced around to see Sam grinning, backpack over one shoulder.

“Asshole,” Dean muttered.

Pam encouraged Sam to crash at the restaurant when he felt like it, and Dean suspected she just wanted a chance to mother the two of them simultaneously, but it was appreciated, if grudgingly.

“Sam, this is Cas, my boss’s boss. And Cas, this is Sam, my pain in the ass little brother.”

“He’s taller than you,” Cas noted, and Dean heaved a mock sigh.

“Taking his side already, I see.”

Cas gave Dean a shy smile, small but more genuine that he’d seen before, and Dean felt his chest warm.

Sam settled next to Cas, and Dean left to bus a table. When he turned back several minutes later, the two of them were still deep in conversation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> <3

“You were right.”

Dean startled from his cup of coffee. He was perched on the trellis in front of the restaurant soaking up the sun for a few more minutes before he clocked in.

It was strange seeing Cas out in the daylight, but pleasant to see the tan on his skin and light flash blue in his eyes. He was grinning.

That’s new, Dean thought.

“I was right about what?”

“The gardening. My groundskeeper thinks I’m going crazy but I tore up a huge patch in the back yard and planted carrots and zucchini and several different species of flower- Why are you laughing?”

It was hard to imagine the guy always in shirt sleeves digging his way through his back yard.

“I’m just glad you’re enjoying yourself. It looks good on you.” Hadn’t meant to say that.

The grin Cas gave was worth the embarrassment.

“What do you do? To relax? You don’t strike me as the gardening type.”

“What gave me away?” Dean chuckled. “Nah, you’re right. I guess...well, fixing cars, but I don’t do much of that these days. I run sometimes. Listen to music. I dunno.”

“Sam said you like to read.”

“Pfffff.” Dean sighed through his pursed lips, embarrassed. “Yeah. I guess.” He slid off the trellis to unlock the restaurant, pushing then pulling then kicking the door about halfway to the handle in order to get the lock to unstick. Cas was giving him a weird look but he ignored it.

“You guess?” he asked, following Dean into the dark restaurant. When Dean didn’t answer, he added, “What are you reading now?”

“Uh...Thoreau. Civil Disobedience”

Cas quirked a brow. “And?”

“And what?” Dean started opening the register and, to his surprise, Cas rounded the corner and began filling the ice trough beneath the bar.

“And what do you think?”

“Oh...uh…” He took a moment to finish clocking in and wave at Tom-the-line-cook as he entered, still wearing sunglasses despite the low light in the dining room. “Rough night?”

“Awesome night,” Tom corrected as he shuffled into the kitchen to start prep, nodding to Cas as he went.

Cas joined Dean at the bar, rolling silverware and folding napkins as Dean filled the salt shakers and hot sauces left low by last night’s closing crew. They worked in strangely comfortable silence for a long minute until Dean finally said, “I like it. I like the responsibility he gives to everyday people, and his distrust of the hive mind. At first his proposals sound extreme, but then the more you think about it, the more it makes sense.”

Cas was looking at him, guarded but smiling, and Dean watched in awe as blueish-white streaks lept from Cas’s skin and danced along his own where her their arms rested close on the countertops.

He gasped. “Do you see that?”

Cas’s eyes widened fractionally and he nodded. “You’re very powerful. I told you that.”

Dean blushed and shook his head, changing the subject. “Anyway. You reading anything interesting lately?”

The time slipped away from him, and by the time he unlocked the front door for patrons, he and Cas had run through ten years of reading and several musicians. Dean made Cas laugh a handful of times, which felt way more satisfying than it should’ve. Cas began opening up, shoulders loosening, hands moving animatedly as he told stories. The change was so noticeable that Pam commented on it when she came in around noon.

“What’d you do to him?” she asked.

“Huh?” Dean glanced up from the inventory list.

“Cas. He’s all…” she stopped though, unable to find the word and distracted as the man in question wandered over to the bar to ask Dean a question about a band they’d discussed earlier. She watched as the men leaned towards each other from opposite sides of the bar, rare smiles on both of them, and chuckled to herself. Question answered.

\--

Over the next few months it became a regular occurrence to see Cas perched at the bar. Sometimes he brought a book, sometimes he just sat, sketching on napkins and talking to Dean, or Sam when he came by. They all got along so well Dean was barely surprised when Sam asked, “Can Cas come over for dinner?”

Barely.

“Uh...why?”

Sam was looking at him like he was stupid. “Because? Because he’s our friend? Because you make good food? Because I want to talk to him about my project on the Harlem Renaissance?”

“Oh. Ok. Sure.” Sure. Let’s invite the strangely endearing hot guy I’ve been randomly dreaming about to family dinner.

He immediately regretted agreeing, but Sam’s face lit up so he said nothing. “Great! Thanks Dean.”

By the time, Cas showed up at their apartment, Dean was completely lost in dinner preparations: grilled cheese on marbled rye with balsamic sauteed onions, homemade basil tomato soup, and salad (for Sam).

Between spending money on Sam’s rapidly changing clothing needs and the paying bills they didn’t have much to spare, but food was something Dean was always willing to splurge on. Maybe it was an homage to their mother, who always made sure they had something delicious to eat, even in his school lunches. Maybe it was an apology to Sam for letting John drag them all over the country eating nothing but fast food. Maybe it was simply because he wanted to impress Cas.

“Smells delicious.”

A low voice in his ear startled him and he turned to see Cas standing only a few feet away.

“Hey!” Dean grinned over his shoulder. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’ve been told I’m very sneaky.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Really? By who?”

“Whom,” Cas corrected. “Namely my housekeeping staff. I think I have a tendency to startle people.”

“You think?”

The demure shrug Cas gave didn’t hide his mischievous smirk.

“I see,” Dean said.

It was then that he realized Cas wasn’t wearing his typical business casual, but instead dark wash jeans and a black v-neck. He gulped and turned away, hoping his reaction hadn’t been noticed, but he was distracted enough to catch the side of his hand on a pan.

“Shit,” he murmured, examining the small bubble forming.

“I can…” Cas stepped forward, two fingers outstretched and touched the wound gently. The rush of magic was accompanied by a buzzing that was somehow similar to the ringing he’d heard when they first met, but without the pain. He jerked his hand back as if burned a second time.

“What was that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Wha’d’ya mean what do I mean? What’s with the buzzing?”

Cas was looking at him with wide eyes. “Couldn’t be…” he whispered.

“Cas! Come ‘ere a minute!” Sam’s voice rang excitedly through the apartment, and Cas startled, then left the room without giving an answer.

Dean frowned but didn’t pursue it.

He’d noticed the feeling before, a buzzing under his skin when Cas was around, but as a person who ignored things for a living, he’d chosen not to think about it. Throughout their months of friendship the guy never touched him, so until this moment it had never been strong enough to warrant his attention. Now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to ignore it. It felt important somehow.

A beer, dinner, and affectionately listening to Sam and Cas discuss Langston Hughes calmed him down again, and by the time they’d finished eating Dean was feeling more relaxed than he could remember. He didn’t even mind when Sam’s phone went off and he blushingly excused himself to set up a “study session” with Jess. The quotations were Dean’s, obviously.

“You’ve been quiet,” Cas commented, bumping Dean’s elbow with his own.

“Hmmm. Sorry. I don’t have much to say. I like listening to you guys.”

“I thought you liked literature. I mean, those first editions in the main room aren’t Sam’s,” he said, challenging.

“Maybe they’re heirlooms,” Dean retorted. Some had belonged to his mother, but most were his, collected and carefully hoarded over dozens of moves.

“Bullshit.” Cas’s eyes were blazing.

He was surprised to hear something other than disturbingly proper English coming from the guy, then angry that someone was challenging him. But at end of the emotional tailspin was relief that someone finally called his bluff.

Dean had no clue why he said what he did next, but with a huff he murmured, 

“I shall return again; I shall return

To laugh and love and watch with wonder-eyes

At golden noon the forest fires burn,

Wafting their blue-black smoke to sapphire skies.

I shall return to loiter by the streams

That bathe the brown blades of the bending grasses,

And realize once more my thousand dreams

Of waters rushing down the mountain passes.

shall return to hear the fiddle and fife

Of village dances, dear delicious tunes

That stir the hidden depths of native life,

Stray melodies of dim remembered runes.

I shall return, I shall return again,

To ease my mind of long, long years of pain.

He liked that one, with all its imagery. When he’d chosen the poem to memorize for school all those years ago he used to pretend he had somewhere to return to, instead of a life spend running from.

Sammy’s voice from the other room was the only sound for a long moment, so long in fact that Dean finally lifted his eyes from the table top. Those couldn’t be tears shimmering in Cas’s eyes. That would be ridiculous.

“Told you so,” Cas growled, and stood abruptly to collect their plates. Dean stood to help him automatically, avoiding his eyes. What just happened? What the fuck had possessed him to do that? McKay was a favorite, certainly, but these discussions were more Sammy’s style. He was the smart one. A tide of self-loathing was cresting when Cas turned to him, inches away at the kitchen sink and said, “That was beautiful Dean.”

Cas didn’t wait for a response before wandering back to the table, which was just as well because Dean didn’t have one for him. Just a blush and a slow smile, hidden, silent.

By the time he got back, fingers pruny from the dishwater, Cas was watching the soccer game Dean had TiVo'd and Sam finishing his homework.

“I’d put down money that Arsenal beats Man U,” Dean grunted as he plopped down on the center cushion and put his feet up. Sammy gave a whine of irritation at the invasion of his space, and Dean gleefully ignored him.

“Likewise,” Cas murmured from where his chin was cradled in his palm.

“Really?” Dean grinned. “Not a Manchester fan?”

Cas scrunched his face in disgust. “No thank you.”

“See Sammy? I’m not the only one.”

“Dean,” Sam groaned. “It’s not that I don’t care about Arsenal. Or Manchester United. I don’t care about soccer. Football. Whatever. Baseball is a much more entertaining sport.”

“Gross.”

“The intricacies of the game are far more-”

“Whatever Gigantor. Be quiet. I wanna watch the game.”

“You’ve already-”

Sam’s protest was cut short by a sharp look from both the men next to him and he rolled his eyes before returning to his work. He lasted half the game before he was sound asleep, and Dean pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and gently tossed it over him.

“You’re a good brother, Dean,” Cas murmured.

He tucked his chin down into his chest to hide the smile. “Thanks, man.”

They got in another few minutes of the game in comfortable silence before Dean felt Sammy start to twitch against his hip.

“Why don’t you do magic anymore?” Cas asked suddenly.

There was no preface, no transition. Simply a blunt question, and while Dean appreciated that trait in most cases, it was not welcome on this topic.

“Back the fuck off about it man,” he said coldly.

“But-”

“Cas, I’m warning you.”

Cas heaved a long suffering sigh. “I don’t understand. You’re very powerful. With a little training, you could be...remarkable.”

The sting that Cas needed him to be a trained enchanter to be worthwhile took a back seat to irritation.

“You don’t have to understand. You have to respect the fact that I’m telling you I’m not doing magic. Ever again. Ok?”

“But-”

“Cas!” His tone left no room for discussion.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He looked genuinely worried and Dean immediately felt bad, but there was no way to back out. Dad had insisted they never use magic, and it had taken the lives of their parents and countless friends over the years. Magic was out of the question. End of story.

“Dean doesn’t like it ‘cause it got Mom ‘n Dad killed. My fault.” Sammy was half asleep, so the words were practically gibberish, but both men understood perfectly.

“Sammy, it wasn’t...” Dean spoke softly, running a soothing hand over the boys hair but Sam interrupted him, blinking sleepily.

“Dreamed about fire again, Dean,” he whispered. “Be careful.”

“It’ll be fine-” but the lanky teenager was asleep again, drooling on the couch.

Cas heaved himself up with a sigh.

“I should be going.”

Dean nodded sharply, dismissing the urge to ask him to stay before following him to the door, where Cas turned back.

“I’m sorry.”

Startled, Dean said, “For what?”

“For your parents. For your loss. For pushing you.” He paused. “Thank you for a lovely evening. I - It’s been a long time since I’ve made any new...friends?” The question in his voice broke Dean’s heart a little. “Anyway. Sweet dreams.”

By the time Dean had recovered from that, Cas was gone.

\--

Ironically, the very next time they saw each other, Dean did some pretty extreme magic.

It had been an insanely busy shift, but it was finally slowing down. Cas had swung by to talk to Pam, but of course spent a few minutes of it with Dean before heading to her office. He always did, and Dean always pretended he wasn’t anxiously looking forward to his visits.

There were only a few patrons left when he smelled it: Something burning. The smell was common at the restaurant, between pizza crusts and baked desserts and cleaning the grill, and Dean ignored it. He ignored it while he bused and wiped down tables. He ignored it while he restocked the bar. He might have gone on ignoring it all damn night if he hadn’t needed napkins from the back.

Tom was nowhere to be seen, the back door propped open. He must be out for a cigarette. But the ovens…

Smoke poured from two of the ovens against the far wall.

“Shit,” Dean muttered, and immediately went for the fire extinguisher. He pulled the pin and squeezed, but nothing happened. “Shit!”

Towel wrapped around his hand, he yanked one of the oven doors open. He wasn’t sure what he was planning on doing, it wasn’t like he could smother the flames inside the oven, but it didn’t much matter at that point, because flames shot out and began dancing along the floor.

Magic. It had to be. This felt too familiar. There was no way tile would burn like that. No way the flames wouldn’t respond to the water he sprayed from the industrial hose attached to the sink.

“Everyone out. NOW!” he snarled into the dining room then ran back into the kitchen.

If he concentrated, he could feel the energy holding the magic up. The feel of it was intimately familiar. The demon.

“Come on, Dean!” Tom was hollering from the exit door, and he was moments away from obeying when he realized.

Cas and Pam were still in her office. He heard a pounding from behind the metal door.

“Go Tom! I’ll be right there! Cas!” he yelled. “Cas, man, you guys gotta get outta there!”

He prayed for a response, but it was not the one he wanted.

“The door’s stuck, Dean! I’m going to have to force it open. Stay back!”

 

Cas’s voice was calm and businesslike, and Dean felt a small surge of relief but then one of the chimneys collapsed in front of the office door and his pulse skyrocketed.

“No! Stay there!” 

If Cas opened the door now, they’d be walking into flames. Dean searched around desperately for something to clear a path. Foolish. Whoever set this fire was using magic to spread it around.

“There’s too much smoke! I have to get us out!”

This time, Dean didn’t hesitate.

Legs spread, anchoring him to the earth, he extended his arms palms down and breathed. Breathed out the fear. Breathed out the inexperience. And reached.

Down, beneath his sternum, into the earth itself, he reached until he felt it, flowing like a spring: tides of magic. He pulled it up into himself, a channel through his feet, across his chest, down his arms, bursting from his palms.

Dimly, in the background, he registered the office door bursting open but all his concentration was focused on the chill rushing down and out, pressing the flames down back into the floor, into the air, into wherever they’d come from. The fire in front of the oven where it had originated was more stubborn, but Dean pushed at it, not noticing his shaking hands or the sweat pouring down his face until the last curl of smoke dissipated and he crashed to the floor, barely catching himself on his knees.

“Dean!”

Cas was at his side in a heartbeat, a hand under his arm while Pam coughed behind them.

“I’m fine, it’s fine. Are you--?” he had to stop talking, winded, and Cas turned back to Pam.

“Give me your hand, I’m taking us back to Dean’s.”

She shook her head. “No, you go. I have to be here if and when the fire department shows up.”

“Pam,” Dean rasped. “It’s not safe; that was no ordinary fire. Come on.”

“Dean,” she countered snappily. “I know. I’m a big girl. I’ll call you if I need anything, but I belong here. Get going.”

Cas didn’t give him time to argue. Two long fingers brushed his forehead and they were in the living room of Dean’s apartment.

“What the fuck!” Dean shouted, staggering away.

“Dean-” Cas reached for him, but Dean ducked out of the way and didn’t notice the phosphorescent tendrils of his own magic that reached back for Cas.

“No! What the fuck, man! It’s been years since I even thought about magic, and now, a couple months around you and that’s all there is! Sammy’s asking questions again, Pam reeks of it, and you! You and your fuckin’...wavelength getting under my skin! Why can I feel you, Cas? Why does your magic feel different? Why were we hidden until YOU SHOWED UP?”

Cas’s shoulders slumped so rapidly Dean almost stepped forward to catch him. He stopped himself.

“Cas, whatever set that fire, it was the thing that took my parents.”

The other man’s head snapped up. “I know. How do you?”

Dean would’ve snorted if he weren’t still breathing so hard. “The magic has the same feel to it. Wait, you know?”

“You shouldn’t be able to sense things like that, Dean. That’s a very advanced-”

“Yeah, well, I can. Even in my pathetically untrained state,” he sneered. “Asshole. Now answer my fucking questions!”

Dean turned on his heel to get a beer from the fridge. He didn’t offer one to Cas.

“I...I’m not sure yet, Dean. I have a...history with certain kinds of magic, and you feel familiar to me, but it...should be impossible.” The last comment he said quietly, as if to himself.

“What does that have to do with all this bullshit, Cas?”

“I don’t know!” His calm demeanor finally cracked. “I truly don’t know! My life was simple too, you know, before this, before you. It had settled! After centuries of exhaustion and failure I was finally starting to breathe easy. You’re not the only one whose world has been turned upside down, alright?”

“Centuries. Centuries? What the fuck are you?” His voice was slow-spreading ice.

Cas’s chest caved as if struck, and Dean watched as a dozen thoughts flicked through his mind in the span of seconds before he said, “It is of no consequence.” Cas straightened to an almost haughty posture, and all expression smoothed from his face, leaving a blank mask behind.

“Dean? What’s going on?” Sammy poked his head into the room.

Trying desperately not to show how badly he was trembling, Dean turned to him and said the dreaded words, spitting them out quickly like ripping off a bandaid. The sad smile on his lips was just a grimace.

“Start packin’, Sammy.”

Silence. Then,

“No,” he breathed. “No! I’ve got school! And the apartment! And Jess! And Cas!”

Dean shook his head. “I’m sorry Sammy. He’s here. The demon. He came to the restaurant today. We can’t risk it. Can’t risk you.”

“Or you, Dean,” Cas murmured softly, but he was ignored.

“Why don’t you fucking fight back this time Dean? Instead of running, why don’t we stand our ground? Cas says you’re incredibly powerful. Maybe you can defeat this thing? And I’ve been looking through some of the old spell books you saved-”

“How did you know about those?” Dean interrupted, but Sammy raved on with no more than an eyeroll.

“We don’t have to run this time!”

“Listen, Sam. Whatever Cas told you about me, it’s not true. I’m not any of those things. And I won’t let anything happen to you.” His voice dropped, and he hated the pleading tone in it. “It’s my job to take care of you, Sammy.”

The cruel snort Sam gave hurt worse than the scratching smoke still working it’s way from his lungs.

“Yeah. You’re Daddy’s little soldier aren’t you. Always do what he wants. Both of you could’ve stayed and fought, and neither of you had the balls to do it.”

“Sam!” The shock in Cas’s voice actually startled the boy out of his diatribe for a moment. Cas looked appalled, like maybe he knew the weight Dean carried with him, but Dean was too busy getting his breath back to notice.

He was trying. Trying to be the man his father wanted him to be.

“Stay out of this, Cas,” Sam snapped. “I will not be dragged to another crappy town, another crappy identity, another crappy apartment.”

It was another kick in the gut. Dean had done his best, researched the best schools in every town they’d ever moved to, researched the building history of every apartment they’d lived in, making sure there were no reports of lead paint or faulty wiring. He cooked real food and had started expanding his book collection again because it was a hobby both he and Sam shared.

But no. He was a coward and an asshole, dragging Sam from one crappy life to another. The hatred in his gut, the special kind reserved only for himself, flared raw for a moment before he forced it down. In his best warning tone he growled, “Sammy-”

“No. Find another way,” the boy spat, and his bedroom door slammed shut an instant later.

Bile rose up in the back of Dean’s mouth and he stumbled to the sink, retching. It took several minutes of breathing through his nose before he could turn back around, and when he did, Cas spoke.

“I can work a charm. Something you two could wear. It would keep you hidden, at least until we work something else out.”

Grief clawed its way around Dean’s chest with all the other shit he carried. “No. There won’t be ‘we’. You charm us something, you owe us that, and then you stay the fuck away from us.” His voice cracked but he ignored it. “You don’t want to answer my questions, I don’t care. But we were fine before you came along. And we’ll be fine after.”

Both men looked away, and neither of them saw the pain on the other’s face.

“Fine,” Cas whispered, and disappeared.

Hours later an envelope appeared on the kitchen table with two brown, leather bracelets, strange runes etched into the underside of the band.

_These might buy you some time._

_-C_

Dean tugged one onto Sammy’s his limp wrist as the boy slept, feet sticking out over the edge of the bed. He sat for hours watching his brother sleep. The lines of Sammy’s face were so intimately familiar at this point, but still there was a need to watch him, to check in, to make sure his eyes still fluttered under his lids as he dreamed, make sure his breath puffed out quietly, then louder, then soft again.

Sam’s long hair was soft as he brushed it back with gentle fingertips.

He ached.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” he said quietly. His eyes flicked to the window, searching, looking far off without seeing. “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem Dean recites is "I Shall Return" by Claude McKay.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the last of the angst for a little while. Soon we'll get some sweetness. :)

Things returned to a new normal. Sam eventually apologized and after a lengthy discussion they agreed to try and stick around for awhile longer. Dean helped Tom and Pamela rebuild the kitchen. The brothers kept going to work and school. They didn’t hear from Cas.

“Is he talking to you?” Sam asked Pamela one day as he finished his homework at the bar.

She wasn’t sure whether they were talking about Dean or Cas, then realized it didn’t matter - the answer was the same. She shook her head. “Not since the fire. It’s bad.”

“Yeah. I know,” Sam said quietly.

“No. Like, ‘Cas learned how to use email so he wouldn’t have to come into the restaurant anymore’ bad. He’s hundreds of years old. He hates technology. But he learned how to use email so he wouldn’t have to come around anymore.”

“Hundreds?” he gulped. “What is he?”

“An enchanter,” she said with a shrug. “ A powerful one. I can’t see his true self, he’s got a wicked cloaking spell, but I think Dean can.”

“No wonder. Cas said Dean’s really powerful.”

“And Dean thinks he’s not.”

Miserably, Sam nodded. “He says none of the things Cas said are true, but I know he’s just scared. Our Dad insisted we never use magic and Dean just wanted to make him proud. Our mom died of it, and Dad couldn’t work any. I think he was afraid. Afraid to be weaker than his sons. Afraid to lose us.”

“Sammy!” The forced cheer in Dean’s voice cut through their conversation and they both flinched. “Get goin’ on that homework, man. Somebody in this family’s gotta go to college.”

“Shit,” Sam said as they watched him push through the kitchen door.

“Shit is right,” Pam sighed.

\--

He heard the footsteps first, then saw those ridiculously long legs fold and hands wrap at the ankles.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you ever going to talk to Cas again?”

Instead of responding, Dean went back to tightening the bolt on the base of the oil filter. If only he had an answer for Sam. It’d been four weeks and the demon hadn’t returned. Apparently the charms were working, not that Cas had bothered checking. And Dean…

Dean was having dreams again.

He’d always had strange dreams, not prophetic in any way, that was more Sam’s thing, but weird in their own way, bizarrely vivid and detailed. These days his dreams came in two flavors: Cas and nightmare.

The dreams about Cas were trippy. Sometimes they were in the apartment, but sometimes Dean was watching Cas in an era long past. There was a huge stone courtroom they stood in during some of the dreams, where Cas had long hair and wore a robe. There was a small wooden hut and in those dreams Cas was so young he still had baby fat on his face. In some Cas could see him, in others Dean watched scenes unfold from the periphery, feeling like an intruder the whole time.

Sometimes they almost spoke to one another, though he’d never gotten farther than staring longingly across the dream void and trying to come up with a way to say ‘I’m sorry’ without actually having to say it.

The nightmares were always about the demon, and in the nightmares, unlike the dreams about Cas, there were conversations. The creature said things like, “I’ve known your family for centuries” and “He doesn’t even recognize you” and “I’ll see you soon, boy.”

All Dean could ever do was scream: “Who are you? What do you want?” but he never got an answer. The familiar, acrid burn that accompanied the demon’s presence was always there, lingering in the room for just a split second after Dean woke up.

A small part of him wondered if there was something more to these dreams, both about Cas and about the murderer, but it was too much to deal with, so he left it alone.

“Ignoring me won’t actually make me stop asking, you know,” Sam said patiently.

Dean sighed and slid out from under the car. “Yeah. I got that.”

“I’m worried about you, man. You’re...off lately.”

Dean turned around sharply, frowning. “Maybe because the freak that killed our family knows where we are, and instead of leaving like any sane person, we’re hanging around to get our asses handed to us. I have one job, Sammy: to keep you safe, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but the choice to stay here makes my life a hell of a lot harder.”

Sam stayed quiet as he followed his brother up the back stairs into the kitchen before he said, “I bet he misses you, too.”

Dean didn’t say, “I don’t deserve him.” He didn’t say, “It’s my fault he’s gone.” He didn’t say, “I’m an asshole, and I don’t blame him for skipping out, and I feel like shit for pushing away the best thing that’s happened to us in forever and-” He just let the thoughts wash over him in waves then tucked them deep inside himself to feel awful about later.

Sam wasn’t sure whether the water from the sink drowned out his voice, or if Dean was just pretending not to listen.

\--

Every once in a while Dean swore he saw Cas, a flash of blue, a sizzle beneath his skin, in a crowd or on the steps of the apartment. His body would respond with joy, a jump in his stomach, a stutter in his heartbeat, but it was never him.

Every once in a while a wave of loneliness would threaten to choke him. It didn’t used to be this difficult, Dean thought, before Cas. But Cas was a liar and Dean didn’t have time for that now.

Every once in a while, Sam would ask if he was ok. But that happened less and less.

It wasn’t so bad, Dean tried to convince himself as he walked home with Sammy from the restaurant, bumping shoulders. Sam’s school year was drawing to a close. Maybe they could get out of town for a while. Go on vacation.

The thought had only just wandered through his mind when he smelled it. Smoke.

 

“Sammy,” he growled, throwing his arm out across his brother’s chest.

“I know,” Sam responded, eyes wide. “Dean, I know a protection spell, I could-” He was interrupted by the flash of something blowing up down the street and throwing the two of them several feet until a wall stopped their trajectory.

“I’d say start workin’ it, Sammy,” Dean snapped. Jerkily he hauled himself up, standing over Sam as a shield.

“Isn’t that precious,” a voice whined from the shadows.

“Come out where I can see your ugly ass!” Dean shouted.

At first the only response he got was dry snicker, brittle and wheezing.

Then the thing stepped forward.

“Jesus tapdancing christ,” Dean whispered.

It might have been a man once, but not now. Emaciated was the word that came to mind. The thing looked like firewood. Leathery skin clung in strips, dipping in over every muscle and bone. Eyes and cheeks sunken and bruised. Teeth were yellowed and chipped, lips were purple and cracked. It was tall, taller than Dean, and he backed up a step in spite of himself.

“Such a pity you’ve taken all that time away from magic, child. Might’ve come in handy right about now.”

“What do you want?” Distantly he heard Sammy chanting something behind him, felt the beginnings of a spell swirling the air, and hoped he could give the kid time to get the incantation working.

“What I’ve taken from every firstborn in your family, ridiculous boy.” The creature spoke with surprise in his tone, like Dean should know these things. “You have seen me in your dreams, yes?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he said flatly. There was either sweat or blood running down his back and his heart was thundering with worry for Sam, but he hell if he would let the creature see.

“I’ve been feeding off your family for centuries. Taking back what was mine, all those years ago. A family for a family seems fair, don’t you think, majesty?”

“You’re crazy,” Dean whispered. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“No, no, young one!” The thing laughed, delighted, but then its voice dropped, menacing. “But you soon will be.”

The now familiar flames leapt from the demon’s outstretched claw, and Dean was suddenly doused in it. Pain raced under his skin, through his veins and he doubled over, screaming.

“Dean!”

It was witch fire, getting inside while leaving his skin untouched, but he didn’t know if it would spread. The shit at the restaurant certainly had. He stumbled forward, hoping to keep the flame away from Sam, and although he couldn’t curse the creature because of some kind of shield spell, he braced himself and shoved protection at his brother, ice and water and safety. It took a few minutes, but he felt it mix with the spell Sam had cast and solidify into a shell holding him where he was, but keeping the fire at bay.

“I don’t want him, stupid boy. The king is the thing, you know?” It cackled again. “I’m impressed though. Your grandfather didn’t last under this spell nearly as long, and he’d had a lifetime of practice. Then again, he was old…” It spoke offhandedly, as if they were discussing gas prices instead of the apparent murder of his family. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I ain’t royalty,” Dean spat, blood dripping down his chin.

The thing clicked it’s mangled tongue making a sound like raw meat on a butcher’s slab. “Oh highness, your self-loathing won’t help you through this. I wasn’t trying to give you a compliment. I’m trying to explain why you’re wasting your strength on that gangly stringbean behind you.” The hole that was once it’s mouth curved into a crescent. “Though I do love a good fight.”

Dean was trying desperately to find a crack in the creature's magic, somewhere he could break through, but the pain from the fire was getting to his head. He was pretty sure he had a cracked rib, and he could barely see, lightheaded from forgetting to breathe, but Sam stayed safe in his bubble behind him, so there was nothing to lose.

He crumpled to his knees. Just as he was about to let go there was a tremor in the pain, as if the creature were startled, and in the stillness Dean felt something different. Something familiar.

_Cas._

The man appeared next to him, windblown, looking for all the world like a businessman, tie and trenchcoat and all.

He’d meant to shout a warning, but a moan was all that came out. He shook his head and tried again. “Get out of here!” Ugh. Blood gurgled in his throat.

“Not a chance,” Cas whispered fiercely, and knelt before him. “Come on, Dean.” Cool fingers brushed his chin up and their eyes locked. “I can’t stop the pain. It’s too strong and I’m...I’m a fucking idiot for letting it get this far. But we can take him, Dean. We can take him together, ok? Come on. You have to get up.”

“Come on Dean!” he heard Sammy shout. “You can do this! You’re my brother! You can do anything! Get UP!”

Trembling, he forced himself to his feet. “What’s the plan, Cas? I can’t...much longer…” Cas looked desperate, and that freaked Dean out more than anything else.

Cas snatched Dean’s hand and turned to face the creature, which was laughing, looking as if the fire wasn’t costing him even an ounce of energy while Dean shook.

“Oh, how lovely. The Mage!” it cackled.

“Give me your hand. Extend the other. I’ve got you. We have to-”

There was another explosion, but this time he could feel Cas sweeping through his mind, and then their magic rushing out of their bodies together. If Dean tried, he was sure he could’ve seen Cas’s memories or read his thoughts, but there wasn’t time for that. Cas’s magic was wrapping around him, worming it’s way under the fire and lifting the blaze away. The respite was all he needed, and Dean used his magic to begin shoving the flames back at the creature along the trail they’d come.

Without realizing it, he had scrunched his eyes shut when Cas had taken his hand, but he opened them now, watching the demon’s magic reverse itself, slowly flowing back towards the creature’s desiccated talon of a hand.

“No! Impossible! He’s mine!” the thing screamed. Dean felt Cas’s mind flash bright with fury.

“He is his own,” Cas gritted out, body trembling with effort. “He belongs to no one.”

Dean let a moment of gratitude wash through him, but exhaustion interrupted it.

“Cas-” _I’m getting tired here, man. I don’t know if I can-_

“Just -” _a little longer, Dean. Come on._

It was too much. His body had been blazing with magic for minutes on end. He was going to black out soon, he was sure of it, and he’d be leaving behind the only two people he cared about.

_Cas, take Sammy and go!_

Rage pulse through Cas again. _Not without you._

_Cas-_

_Shut up and focus, Dean!_

Shared strength flowed between their bodies, keeping them standing, but Dean had essentially given up. At this point, though, he wasn’t sure where he ended and Cas began, and he didn’t want to withdraw and leave him alone.

“Dean!” Sam screamed, and it was enough. He reached down again and Cas followed his lead, drawing from deep within them, beneath them, and the light surged forward, clean this time, no smoke, and enveloped the demon.

With a flash, it was gone, leaving only a char mark in the pavement.

Dean let go then, easing out of Cas’s mind and dropping gratefully to the ground, darkness swallowing him whole.


	5. Chapter 5

_Please wake up, please wake up, please-_

“Cas, shut up.”

Irritation followed by wave after wave of relief washed over him. It wasn’t his though.

“Dean! Are you alright?”

"Ngh."

There was a rustle and a dip of weight dropped into the mattress, then cool fingers drifting hesitantly over his forehead as if checking for damage.

_Fuck I'm so glad you're awake._

"Yeah, I got that." He cracked an eye open blearily to see Cas looking nervous and confused.

 _You can’t possibly have heard that._ His mouth hadn't moved.

That was when he noticed it, that the roiling in his head wasn't just damage from the fire but in fact another consciousness swirling against his own, bright and ancient.

_Cas? Is that you? Are you in my head?_

_No! Yes._ “I’m not prying, I promise.”

“What...is...this?” His mouth was so dry it was sticking together, making coherent speech almost impossible.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t on purpose, something happened when our magic combined-”

“Sammy! Is he ok?” He sat up too quickly and slumped back down into the covers, shuddering through the shockwaves of pain. Cas doubled over and caught himself on the edge of the bed.

“He’s fine, Dean,” he panted. “And please hold still until you learn how to keep your mind closed off. That’s quite painful.”

Dean snorted and nodded gently in an effort not to jostle his head. Guilt and fear were now oozing over Cas’s relief and Dean drew in on himself slightly, trying to keep the feeling out.

_Cas, it’s ok man._

_You don’t understand. We’re...bonded now._

“The fuck you mean bonded?”

“Our minds are open to one another. There are ways to control it, mediate it, but for now…” He sounded panicked.

Dean wasn't crazy about the idea, but he honestly hadn't expected to wake up at all, so sharing some headspace didn't seem worth getting worked up about.

 _Ok. Ok,_ he thought.

“You’re not mad?”

“Do I feel mad?” Dean could sense it, the way his mind was laid open before Cas, emotions and thoughts rolling between the two of them like waves.

“No.” Cas answered cautiously. “You feel tired. Sore.”

“And you feel unreasonably worried.” He smirked, trying to lighten the weight on Cas’s mind, when an image flashed through his head. He was looking down on himself from someone else’s perspective, blood pouring from his nose and mouth, skin almost green against the blue of his shirt and the black of burned pavement. Cas’s memory.

“Unreasonably?” Cas’s voice trembled slightly. Dean wouldn’t have noticed before, but everything felt magnified now.

“Sorry man, I...what can I do so you don’t have to feel this shit?”

“It will ease into the background of your thought process eventually. You’ll learn to put barriers in place, but I promise, I won’t go poking through your mind. It wasn’t my intention to trap you in this. It just...happened.” The twinge of nervousness could’ve come from either of them. “You’re tired. I’ll send someone to check on you later.”

Dean felt vaguely disappointed that Cas was leaving, and he must have felt it, because he turned back around with a soft smile.

_Dean. I really am glad you’re alright._

The thing was, Dean didn’t feel trapped. Maybe he should be angry, but all he felt was comfort, a rightness, like something he’d been missing had been found. That seemed a little personal, though, so he pulled his walls up a little, holding the thought in.

\--

The next time he woke he felt slightly less like death warmed over. Sam was sitting in a chair by the bed reading, stupid long legs kick up against the mattress.

“You know it’s bad manners to put your feet on the bed.” His voice felt like sandpaper, but Sam looked so damn delighted that it couldn’t have been that bad.

“Fuck you,” Sam said, dropping his feet and pulling the chair up. “How are you feeling?”

The concern on his brother’s face made Dean’s chest hurt, and he wrenched him down into a one armed hug, painfully aware of how lucky they were. Even the thought of losing each other was too painful to sit with for long, and they broke apart after only a moment, both suspiciously bright eyed.

He felt a pulse of comfort from Cas.

 _Can you hear this conversation?_ Dean wondered.

_No, I don’t have access to that. There was just...sadness. From you._

He pressed a _thanks_ to Cas’s mind then turned back to Sammy.

“So you’re ok?” Dean murmured.

“Yeah, man, I’m good. As soon as you passed out, Cas grabbed us and whammied us here.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Three days.” Sam tugged at a loose thread on the sleeve of his flannel as he spoke, belying the worry he’d been marinating in for the past seventy two hours.

“Hey,” Dean said, squeezing his arm. “I really am ok, Sammy.”

Sam bobbed his head. “I’m sorry I asked you to stay. I’m sorry about all that shit I said. If we’d have left when you said we should-”

“Sammy. Enough of that. You were right. It’s time to stand our ground. Besides, he would’ve found us no matter where we went. It was just a matter of time. It’s all good, man.” He paused, trying to figure out a way to change the subject, feeling almost physically ill with the amount of guilt he’d encountered in the past few days. He asked the most pressing question. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Oh!” Sam sat up. “We’re at Cas’s...house? Mansion? Castle? I dunno. We’re at Cas’s. Everyone’s super cool and they’re all magicians. Check out what I learned yesterday.” He muttered a few words and tiny trails of light burst into life, hovering together in a cloud above his head. “Never stub my toe on the way to the bathroom again.”

Dean huffed a laugh, but Sam suddenly looked nervous and with a word the light cloud vanished. “Are you...ok with me doing magic? I know you’re not really...comfortable with it but…”

Sam was right.

His feelings surrounding magic were complex and unpleasant. Dean felt foolish for being so militant about avoiding their powers when it made no difference in the end, and there was a fear ingrained in him from years of trying to appease his father, a voice that screamed at him to stay hidden, stay small.

A part of him, though, thought back to his mother, back to treasure hunts she planned for him to practice locator spells. Back to learning how to clean up the toy room with a wave of his hand. Back to making animals leap from the pages of his coloring books to dance for a tiny Sam, making him squeal with glee.

Dean sighed.

“It’s fine. Our cover’s been blown anyway, and that thing’s not dead yet. We’ll need all the protection we can get. Just...be careful.”

“The demon’s not dead?”

“I don’t think so,” Dean muttered, shaking his head.

“Cas doesn’t think so either,” said a voice, and they both jumped, but Sam smiled at the woman in the doorway and Dean relaxed. If Sam trusted her than so did he.

“Dean, this is Ellen. She keeps telling me she’s the housekeeper but I have a feeling there’s a more to her job than that.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, kid,” Ellen said as she whipped the curtains open. “‘Bout time you were up, Dean. You can have dinner with the family tonight.”

“The family?” Dean asked weakly.

She fixed him with a stare, hands on her hips. “The people that end up here have important work to do. A lot of secrets pass through this house. We have to trust each other like family, Dean-o. The two of you are part of that now. Understand?”

Dean nodded. Familial loyalty was something he understood perfectly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now take a damn shower, you stink. Dinner’s downstairs in an hour.”

She was almost out the door when Dean choked out, “Sorry, clothes? I don’t...” He panicked for a minute, suddenly realizing he felt pretty naked but reached down and was relieved to find he was wearing boxers.

Sam interrupted, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at a sliding door. “Dean it’s so cool. The closets here tailor clothes to you, style, size, everything!”

“It might take a few days for it to get your size right, but I can teach you a damn fine altering spell that’ll do the trick until then,” Ellen added.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’ll never get used to this shit.”

“Language!” Ellen called out behind her.

\--

The house was ridiculous. Thankfully Sam came back to Dean’s room to walk him to dinner or he would’ve gotten completely lost. Three floors, three wings, countless rooms; according to Sam’s babbling there were at least two libraries, an observatory, an indoor greenhouse, and a small gym.

By the time they got to the dining room, Dean was genuinely nervous. He’d chosen a pair of jeans and a black henley from the closet, but the grandeur of some of the house made him think he should’ve dressed in something more formal.

He needn’t have worried. A long wooden table ran the length of the room and Dean could just barely see where it had recently been magically modified to accommodate him and Sam, and most of the people around it looked even scruffier than he did. Ellen entered, carrying a dish to add to the already excessive spread and Dean whistled lowly.

“Is this heaven?” he murmured.

Potatoes, greens, two kinds of meat: a honey ham and what looked to be pork chops, sweet potatoes with brown sugar and pecans, cornbread… His stomach grumbled audibly and the guy sitting closest to him snorted.

“Pull up a chair, boy,” he grunted.

Dean blinked at the table and then to his brother. There were plates set for he and Sam, but no chairs.

“Its...a thing. You have to...get yourself a chair,” Sam said cautiously.

“Ok... Where are they?”

“No, I mean...” he muttered a few words and a wooden chair that looked similar to the furniture in Dean’s bedroom appeared. Sam nudged it to the table with his foot before saying, “I’m a magician. I’m good with words, I can work spells. But you’re an enchanter. It’s innate. So you could do what I just did, pull an existing chair from another room, although it’s easier if you can visualize it…” he paused and looked hesitant for a moment. “Or you could create one. Something out of nothing.”

Dean shifted awkwardly under the gazes of everyone at the table.

 _Cas, man, where are you?_ He felt close by, but Dean got no response.

“Any time now, cowboy,” a young blonde woman drawled from her seat at the table and Ellen shot her a look.

“Quiet Jo. He just woke up. Dean would you rather I-”

“Jesus christ,” Dean muttered, profoundly uncomfortable, and closed his eyes. The reaching down into himself came easier this time, and though it felt a little sore, like an overworked muscle, the cool of magic felt magnificent.

He decided on wood, something simple, and grain by grain pulled it into existence, hovering a few inches from the ground. First the legs, checking the support beams, then a back with a few horizontal slats and a cushioned seat. As he finished it fell from the air with a quiet thump and he flashed a cocky grin before sitting at the table between a redhead and the gruff guy in the cap.

“You were saying?” he sassed at the blonde.

_Beautiful._

He heard it and felt Cas’s hum in his bones at the same time, and looked up quickly. The approval on his face felt good, and Dean smiled as Cas drew up a chair for himself at the head of the table, tracing the outline with his finger and ignoring it as it manifested in favor of returning Dean’s smile. Everyone was sitting quietly, waiting for something until Cas settled into his chair, a sleek mahogany thing, and softly said, “Shall we?” Immediately, the room dug in.

The shift from silent room to chaotic meal was instantaneous. Food and drink and friendly argument (literally) flew through the air. It was a strange bunch of people, but the way they interacted with one another did indeed seem very familial. There was plenty of teasing, plenty of scolding, and a healthy dose of affection between them.

Dean was acutely aware of the magic in the house and its occupants. Perhaps it was sharing his mind with Cas, perhaps it was the sudden increase in his own use of magic, perhaps it was simply being in such an enchanted place, but Dean couldn’t help but see the magic where it lay, spells and charms and glamors. Lacy, thready wards hung with deceptive delicacy over all the windows and doors. The chairs each person sat in matched the faint aura of magic that surrounded each of them, as idiosyncratic as their owners. Sam’s aura, for example, was akin to water, moving fluidly and more thickly around the parts of his body that acted as touch points for his magic: hands, mouth, eyes, chest. The girl next to him with fiery hair was surrounded with something that looked strangely similar to fairy lights.

Cas’s was blindingly beautiful white-blue, saturating him and radiating out. He looked like a grounded star.

The family seemed to respond to Cas as the head of their little household, and for all his oddities, it fit. He sat between Sam and another boy, listening attentively, nodding in the right places, but also arguing with them, forcing them to defend or rethink their stances. Dean watched them for a few moments, feeling fond, before the redhead in a rolling office chair said, “The name’s Charlie.”

“Dean Winchester,” he replied with a handshake.

She evaluated him with a slow stare, squinting. “Star Wars or Star Trek?”

He couldn’t help but grin at her. “This is obviously a test, and the answer is obviously Star Wars.”

She gave a gasp of mock anguish. “You heathen.”

“That’s what they say.” He gave her a wink, and she laughed aloud.

“You’re alright,” she affirmed, somehow managing to look haughty even with a mouth full of corn bread.

He gave a little bow. “Why, thank you, your highness.”

Later, when they’d stopped shoveling food in their faces long enough to breathe, she introduced him to the rest of the group. Jo, the blonde, was Ellen’s daughter and what Charlie dreamily referred to as a firecracker. Ben was the youngest by far at 15, but he seemed like a nice kid. Bobby, the gruff guy in the trucker hat, and a soft spoken man named Benny were the groundskeepers.

“I thought there’d be more people here,” Dean mumbled to Bobby through a mouthful.

“Your manners are shit, boy.” He clearly didn’t actually mind as he kept right on talking. “Plenty o’ other people that work at the house, but these are the ones that live here. Help staff mostly lives downtown. They do breakfast and lunch with us sometimes but I think they’re a little freaked by some of the shit that goes on here.”

“Like what?”

“Like Ben blew up a tree yesterday,” Jo snarked.

“Like Jo set fire to a couch last week,” Ben retorted.

“It was an accident,” she murmured sweetly, fooling no one.

Cas snorted into his drink. “Come on now. We’re all learning.”

“Yeah, yeah, Dad,” Charlie said affectionately, and Dean blinked.

“Dad?”

She shrugged. “He takes really good care of us, you know? Here we are, a bunch of weirdos with a place to call home and people to call family. And we wouldn’t have that if it weren’t for him.”

Dean ducked his head in acknowledgement and swallowed dryly, thinking about the way he’d pushed Cas away after the fire at the restaurant. Maybe the guy should’ve given him some answers, but he saved Dean’s life and probably Sam’s, and gave all these people a home. The guilt was ruining his appetite, and that was unacceptable.

He looked up and waited until Cas wasn’t talking to anyone before thinking across the table.

_I’m sorry for before._

A rush of affection oozed through the bond, and Dean soaked it up, smiling. It was so...Cas, in a way he hadn’t felt in weeks. In a way that he missed.

Slowly though, a wisp of guilt began to trickle in with the affection, and Cas startled when he realized Dean could feel it, pushing him away from his mind so harshly that Dean cried out.

The whole room was suddenly quiet, looking at him.

“Sorry,” he said with a smirk. “My head’s still a little fucked from the fire.”

“Language,” Ellen chastised and it worked, the table immediately went back to their conversation, except Sam who was looking at him strangely, and Cas who was avoiding his eyes.

He excused himself not long after, surprised by how tired he was already. Part of him was pissed at Cas for acting so weird, but part of him was pissed at himself for making shit weird in the first place.

He shook his head. “Get over it, Winchester,” he growled to himself.

“Dean.” He’d only gotten halfway down the hall and Cas stood awkwardly outside the dining room door, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I apologize for the,” he gestured to his temple, “head thing.” The casual words sounded strange in his mouth.

Dean shrugged, attempting to divert both their attentions away from the confusion he felt. “It’s whatever, man.”

“You’re doing well with it though,” Cas offered with a smile. “I can feel you putting up walls. It takes most people much longer.”

Dean shoved a hand in his pocket, inadvertently defensive. “Any idea why this is happening?”

Cas’s face fell, but he covered it with a forced smile and turned away saying, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Get some rest.” Clearly Cas was shutting him out, and Dean spent the whole journey to his room trying not to feel hurt by it.

Then outside the door to his bedroom he heard it, timid but clear.

_Sweet dreams, Dean._

\--

Cool, damp air moved through the gray arches and Dean felt it on his face, in his lungs.

Somewhere closeby a meeting was being held. Voices bounced off the stone and he followed them soundlessly until two huge wooden doors crossed with iron barred his way. He pushed, but instead of the doors swinging forward, his body simply slid through them and he found himself standing in a throne room.

It didn’t look like a throne room from the movies. There was no carpet, no crowns, no servants or bodyguards, just a wooden table surrounded by bearded men. In fact, if it weren’t for the thin circlet of silver worn by the man in the largest chair at the table, it would’ve looked like a dinner among friends.

But he knew immediately. It was him. Arthur. The king from his dreams. The king from the past with a court mage who was the spitting image of Cas.

At first Dean was nervous that someone might notice him, but as he approached it became clear that he couldn’t be seen. They were debating an attack strategy, and Dean was immersed in the planning for several minutes before he realized that although he could understand them, they weren’t speaking English.

“What the fuck?” he whispered.

One of the men stood from the table and began to approach, and Dean started to stumble backwards, suddenly apprehensive, when something caught his eye. Blue.

“Cas?”

He wore his hair and beard long and a tunic belted at the waist, but it was him.

“Dean.”

“Is this a dream or real?”

“Yes.” Cas simply stared at him, apparently content with being frustratingly cryptic.

“Where? _When?_ ”

When Cas spoke again, his voice was so soft Dean strained to hear it, but carried such power that he felt his knees buckle a little.

“This is the late fifth century, and that,” he pointed to the man in the silver circlet, “Is his majesty King Arthur and his knights.”

Without thinking, Dean padded forward until he stood even with the king. He was proud looking, but hardened, leathery skin and steel bright eyes.

“His eyes,” Dean breathed. “They’re like mine.” Bright green with a burst of gold in the center.

“Well, he is your great great great great great great-”

“Cas.”

“Grandfather. There would be a few more greats if we were being accurate, by the way.” He sounded peeved and Dean laughed.

“Sorry professor.”

Dream Cas blushed. That was new.

“Is this your dream or mine?”

After running his hands through his dark hair a few times, Cas said, “Both.” No wonder his hair was always a mess. “We’re bonded now, remember?”

Horrified, Dean blinked at him. “Are all our dreams going to be shared?” He was thinking of a particular recurring dream that involved him in panties. That was not one he wanted to share. Yet.

Cas started laughing, which was ridiculous looking in contrast with the menacing sword in his belt, but there it was. “No. Not all of them.”

Dean glared at him. “Wait. So… why’re you here? Looking all...wild.”

He did look scruffy as hell, but not unattractive.

“I was here when this happened in real time.”

“You were a knight?”

Cas shook his head warily. “Not quite. I was the king’s magician.”

Dean scoffed. “That’s crazy. In the stories Arthur’s magician is Merlin.”

“Yes,” he rumbled. “Not my favorite pseudonym by any means.”

 

Gasping, Dean shot up in bed.

_Cas. Cas!_

Cas pushed tiredness over him like a blanket.

_Sleep Dean. We’ll talk in the morning._

He bounced once as he fell back into the pillows. As he drifted off he thought, _If you say ‘sweet dreams’ after that craziness, so help me god, I’m gonna…_

He was cut off by the sound of Cas’s gentle laughter in his mind, and then uninterrupted slumber.

\--

The moment Dean awoke, he hollered into their minds and woke Cas up.

_There’s no need to shout, Dean._

He made it up to Cas with bacon and eggs.

“So. Merlin, huh?”

Cas nodded.

“And King Arthur. I thought...I thought those were just stories.”

Cas smiled sadly. “They are now.”

 _Shit_ , Dean thought in surprise. That wasn’t the response he’d expected.

“I think your heredity and my service to your family is the reason the bond occurred. It has never happened before, but…”

“Before? Wait, hold on Cas, how’re you still around?”

Cas stared down at the table, doodling absently on a napkin and avoiding eye contact. “I’ve been trying to stop the demon that has been hunting your family since the era of the King. It feeds on the lives of the firstborns of the royal bloodline to sustain itself. It will occasionally skip a generation, but it seems that in the past few decades it has been accelerating, leaving less time between murders.”

It was unlike Cas to ignore Dean at all, much less completely avoid his question. Dean was about to push him on it, but as he opened his mouth the emotion that had been straining against Cas’s tightly sealed barriers leaked out along the bottom.

Sadness didn’t even begin to cover it. It was more like existential anguish. Something about the discussion of his ridiculously lengthened life span caused that feeling, and when Dean really thought about it, it wasn’t surprising. Outliving his own parents had been hard enough, but outliving Sammy would’ve been torture. If their lives were normal there would be even more people that he loved, even more people that would break his heart if they left him, friends, teachers, family.

What if Cas outlived Dean? He would, wouldn’t he? Unquestionably. And there would be another person, another bond...

“Dean?”

He flinched. It didn’t take a mind meld to figure out that the expression on Dean’s face was close to miserable, but he covered it with a half-assed smile and did some subject changing of his own.

“What’s going to happen? To the apartment? Sam’s school? My jobs?”

Cas frowned into space for a moment before taking a swig of coffee. “We can work something out with your jobs. Sam’s done with his finals, he and I talked about pulling him out of the last few weeks, but he wanted to check with you first. As for the apartment...I know you were fond of it, but I was hoping the two of you would consider staying here. Sam seems amenable, but…” his voice trailed off and he glanced down at his fork which he was absently spelling to rotate slowly a few inches from the table. Dean recognized it as a nervous gesture, and with a fingertip, gently pressed the utensil back on the table.

“Let me think about it, Cas.”

Cas nodded and returned to his food.

Despite the uncomfortable conversation, they soon slipped back into an easy silence. It took the rest of breakfast, but the sadness finally dissipated, and contentment began to roll off Cas in waves as he went back to his doodling. Dean smiled.

“This is kinda nice,” he admitted. “And Sammy seems to like it here.”

“Yes, Sam is very adaptable.”

“And he likes you.”

“He’s an amiable young man.”

Dean snorted. “Something like that.” He paused. “ Cas, really, you’re good for him."

It was true. Sam finally had someone on his level, someone he could argue with, research with. If Sam wanted to stay…

“I wish you wouldn’t think like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re not as smart as Sam.

“Cas…” Dean groaned. Not this again. “Stay out of my head, man.”

The stern look Cas gave him left no room for argument and he shut his mouth.

“You’re a king, and an enchanter, one of the strongest in the world. You’re better than that kind of self-deprecating mentality.”

It was quite a compliment, but instead of pleasure, Dean felt unease and sadness. Cas was wrong about him. Having some fairy tale great grandfather didn’t mean shit. He’d know better soon enough.

Quickly, Dean drew up his walls so Cas wouldn’t see, but his appetite was gone. Pushing his plate away, he stood and wiped his hands on his jeans.

“I’m gonna go for a run. I’ll see ya later.” He double checked his shields and strode from the kitchen. He heard Cas call his name, felt the concern pushing at his walls, and kept on walking.

“Where’re you going?” Jo’s voice echoed over the railing.

“Running.”

“Can I come?”

He looked up at her in surprise, watching her aura shift around her like translucent plates of armour. Her face gave nothing away.

“Yeah, I guess. Meet out front in 5?”

Four minutes later the two of them were staring awkwardly at each other on the front steps of the mansion. Five minutes later they were hauling ass across the property.

The mansion was located on several acres of land. They ran the long driveway down to the main road, then took a sharp turn to run along the trees and fencing that enclosed the property. About twenty minutes into the run Jo spat, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Dean grunted.

“Oh thank god.”

They ran for a little over an hour and when they finished, Dean was sweaty, red, cramping, and feeling much better. With an understanding smile Jo disappeared back into the house, but he stayed out front, panting.

It was too goddamn hot out. He tugged his shirt off, but there still wasn’t much of a breeze. Almost on instinct, he conjured a raincloud like the ones he and his mom used to make. It was only a few feet across, and it hovered above his head. He smiled at it and it coughed a tiny lightning bolt before starting to rain.

With a sigh of relief, he let the water run over him. It had been too long since he’d worked his body that hard, and it felt good to get back to it. Briefly he considered a small acceleration spell to speed up his recovery, but decided against it, hoping for the invigorating soreness that came after a good workout.

He spent a few minutes stretching in the rain before waving it away. His shorts and shoes were soaked but he dried them with a thought and shook his head, water droplets flying from his hair.

Like a punch in the gut, he felt a low pulse of arousal. Rolling his shoulders, he frowned. It had been awhile since… but he hadn’t really been thinking about…

He glanced up at the house. Someone stood on the roof, shoulders hunched, dark hair sticking out every which way. 

It wasn’t Dean’s arousal.

Cas saw him looking, and quickly disappeared from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends.  
> Quick thoughts on Arthurian lore. Lots of people are die-hard about certain elements. I love Arthurian legend, and I prioritized incorporating canon legend and canon SPN verse into the characters more than I prioritized dates and such.  
> Additionally, any historical inaccuracies (like a broadsword worn to a meeting, lol) are for fantastical effect. Like spy movies. Factually ridiculous, yet satisfying.
> 
> <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a nightmare in second scene of this chapter that gets pretty gruesome, though probably not more than the descriptions of the demon. Just as a brief tw.
> 
> On a different note, and in a different scene: Beginnings of sexy time.
> 
> <3

Until they knew whether the demon was dead, Cas (and Ellen, and Sam) convinced Dean to take a break from work for a while. Cas had said it would make him more comfortable knowing Sam and Dean were safe within the wards of the property, and Dean agreed about the safe Sam part. It took an impressive combination of Sam’s bitchface and puppy dog eyes to get Dean himself to agree to staying, but in the end the Winchesters found themselves in a new home.

Cas moved their stuff from the apartment and Dean cancelled the lease, so he supposed it didn’t matter that he wasn’t working, since he didn’t have bills. Sam’s college fund was concerning, but the situation couldn’t last forever, and Dean promised himself that when they left he’d pick up a another job to make up the difference.

Despite feeling a bit like a burden, Dean found that he was happy, and more importantly, relaxed. For once, he wasn’t the only person watching out for Sam. Now there was a whole household of magicians to help. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one feeling better.

“That boy is weirdly happy lately,” Bobby commented, startling Dean as he watched Cas in the garden from the kitchen doorway.

Dean blushed at being caught, but since Bobby didn’t move, neither did he. Besides, he liked the old man’s aura, comforting, viscous smoke like a blanket. It reminded Dean of the taste of whiskey.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Bobby shrugged. “He’s always got a weight on him, but he’s happy enough, then a couple months ago he gets completely fucked up. Didn’t say what happened, but he didn’t talk to anyone for a while there. Drank too much. Pretty much right up until he took you two knuckleheads in actually. And now…” The old man snorted.

“Now?” Dean prodded.

“Now he’s goddamn chipper. Not complaining though. That boy deserves a bit of happiness.” He examined Dean for a moment. “He’s not the only one.” He turned to the fridge and grabbed a beer. “Anyway.”

Dean tried not to examine the comment too closely.

There was plenty going on in the house to keep him occupied. Ellen’s comment about the residents being a family could not have been more accurate, right down to the sibling rivalry and amiable harassment.

“Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean.”

“Joanna Beth, I swear on all that is holy-”

“Brother, you don’t know shit about holy,” Benny said dryly.

Instead of rolling his eyes, Dean winked, which got a laugh from Benny and a groan from Jo.

“You were saying, Princess?”

“Pass the goddamn potatoes.”

“Language!” Ellen hollered. “And yeah Dean, quit hogging the goddamn potatoes.”

Dean had learned to stop arguing, but he wasn’t done being a smartass. Silently, he gathered up a tiny glop of potatoes and, with a look, sent it flying across the dinner table and into Jo’s mouth. If he missed a little, could anyone really blame him?

“Idjit. You don’t even know what you started,” Bobby grunted.

The evening quickly devolved into a minor food fight, but Cas intervened before it got too out of hand.

_Come on, Cas. You enjoyed that._

Cas raised an eyebrow, but Dean could feel the amusement rolling off of him.

_Are you really trying to hide that from me?_

Cas pulled up his walls in earnest then, accompanied by a toothy grin.

_It’s on._

Dean set his fork down and concentrated on Cas’s walls. He tried tapping. He tried peeling them down. He even tried imagining an explosion along the base. No dice. Cas’s face showed nothing but wry humor at Dean’s overblown attempts to move his walls.

In a last ditch effort Dean pushed his consciousness flush against Cas’s and just lay there, pressed up against the barrier in the mental equivalent of a hug. Despite the unusual circumstance, Dean belatedly recognized the gesture as potentially intimate, but in this context he figured he could feign ignorance.

It worked. Cas’s walls dissolved like paper in water and Dean fell through, but before he could celebrate his victory the idea backfired. The two of them stood in the same mental space together, emotions of affection and want and fear and guilt and duty and joy and doubt whirling around them, completely unseparated, and Dean didn’t know where Cas ended and he began.

For a long moment he froze, letting the feeling wash over him, but Cas gently began pushing back at him and Dean retreated in a hurry.

 _Sorry,_ Cas thought gently. Nervously.

 _No,_ Dean countered quickly. _My bad._ He felt a little embarrassed and was sure Cas could feel it too, but it didn’t stop him from saying, _That was kinda cool though._

It was true. Dean usually ran away from intimacy kicking and screaming, but he felt Cas could be trusted. It was probably the shared vulnerability. There was a warm feeling that came from sharing the same headspace. Companionship. Maybe that was why he liked the bond.

_I’m not lonely anymore._

Dean realized with a jolt that he hadn’t hid that thought, that Cas could hear it, and he looked down, avoiding his eyes.

When he looked back, Cas was smiling so wide it crinkled his face.

\--

“No!” Dean screamed.

There was fire everywhere, racing up the stairs, tearing up the curtains.

“Sam! Sammy!”

He looked desperately around. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t Cas’s house. It was Dean’s parents’. From when he was young.

“Dean?”

“Mom?” She stood in the doorway in her nightgown, radiant. “Mom!” He tried to get to her, but his feet wouldn’t move.

“Dean, help me!” she cried as the fire sped towards her, caught the hem of her nightgown, and suddenly her face was melting, peeling back leaving blackened bone and meat. He tried to scream, but it came out a gag.

“Son?” John stood in the livingroom.

“Dad, you gotta get out of here! The whole place is coming down!”

John was shaking his head. “It’s the magic, I can tell. You did magic, didn’t you? Didn’t you! Left your mother here to burn to death -”

“No, no, no Dad, I promise, I promise,” he sobbed. “We had to, it came for us, we had to-”

“You’re pathetic,” John spat. “Failing at everything, can’t even keep your brother safe, can you _majesty._ ”

Dean froze. “What did you just call me?”

John’s beard fell away as his skin shrank, like it was drying in some invisible sun, cracked teeth replacing white ones, hair coming out in clumps until it wasn’t John at all.

“You,” Dean snarled at the demon where it stood in the charred remains of John’s body.

“Yes, your highness.” Sarcasm dripped viscous over every word.

“I knew you weren’t dead.”

The roaring of the fire stopped, although the heat and the smoke still hung in the air.

The sound of wood cracking filled the air until Dean realized it was actually the demon clapping. “Bravo. One for Mr. Smarty Pants. Or would that be your brother?” it drawled.

Dean didn’t take the bait. “What do you want?”

The thing gurgled a laugh. “Just to remind you that sooner or later I’ll come for you. I’ll burn through every person you’ve ever loved to get there, but I’ll get there, make no mistake, your majesty. I’ll take what I need.”

“Isn’t there some other way? What do you need? I’ll get it for you!”

The smoke dissipated in a gust of fresh air, and surprisingly the demon looked sad. “If only, child,” it murmured. “If only.”

The respite was brief though. Its eyes flashed as it screamed, “Enjoy your dream!” and everything went up in flame again, and this time it was Sammy burning, skin charring while Dean struggled ferociously to get to him.

“Please Dean! Help me! Dean!”

“Dean!” Cas was shaking him. “Dean wake up, it’s just a dream.”

The second Dean woke up he stumbled to the bathroom and puked. When he could breathe again he said, “Sam. Take me to Sam’s room.”

Cas didn’t ask any questions, just pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead. He almost threw up again, but then they were standing in the blue-black light of Sam’s bedroom. His brother’s face was just barely visible, but it was enough. Dean pushed the hair out of the boy’s eyes and listened for ten full breaths. No smoke. No demon. He let the relief sweep through his veins for another ten breaths before he nodded to Cas who tugged them back through space and into his room.

When he returned to the bathroom to grab a toothbrush Cas didn’t follow but instead called, “Are you alright?” from outside the door. Concern laced his voice.

“Great Cas, thanks.”

He spat, splashed cold water on his face and neck. Maybe if he said it aloud he could convince himself he was ‘great’. His reflection did nothing to help, and at the sight of the eyes that he and his mother shared her image popped back into his mind, first beautiful in her nightgown then rotting away. And John. “You’re pathetic.” He was watching his lips mouth the words; he didn’t even see the tears coursing down his face.

He heard the soft shuffle of feet, then Cas’s warm hand came to rest on his shoulder and ran soothingly over his back as he doubled over, face to the counter, and wept.

\--

“Where are you going at the asscrack of dawn?”

Dean’s sleep schedule still sucked, which was the only reason he was awake at 5 a.m. when Cas was chugging coffee in a suit while essentially still unconscious.

“Work,” he slurred.

Dean stepped forward and ran a hand through Cas’s hair in an attempt to make it look presentable.

“It’s a losing battle,” Cas warned a little breathlessly.

“I think you like it all messy,” Dean teased. _I know I do._ He winced, praying his shields had been up for that one. “What’re you doing today?”

“There’s an outbreak of a severe flu at a hospital in Madison. It’s too rare and widespread to be happening naturally. I’m on damage control.”

“Is it safe?” It was kind of a clingy question, but judging by the shy smile Cas gave, there was no offense taken.

“Quite. I’ll be home later tonight. Have a good day, Dean.”

“You too,” he said to the empty room. Always disappearing, the asshole.

He spent the day with Sam. They hung out in the library for hours, reading and joking and trading silly spells, but eventually they got to talking through the Arthur/Merlin business. Dean also mentioned the bond. He left out the nightmares.

“Hold on,” Sam said looking up over his laptop. “We’re the descendants of Arthur, Cas is Merlin, you guys are brain buddies now, and...and what?”

“I dunno Sammy,” he grunted from the couch where he’d been lying for the past hour, skimming a book of lore.

“You didn’t ask for more information?”

Dean sat up, irritated. “Sam, I’ve been brain hacked, attacked by a demon, and mindfucked by some fairy tale turned family history. I’m just trying to absorb it as it comes.”

They stared at each other irritably but eventually Sam nodded, conceding his point. “Fair.” He paused. “I’m totally gonna do some research on it though.” He sounded disturbingly excited by the prospect.

“Let’s look into the demon while we’re at it. It keeps making comments about our family. If it goes back that far, maybe there’s something in the lore about how to stop it.”

“That’s a really solid idea, Dean.” Sam was already typing furiously. “I’ve been dreaming about the thing that took Mom. You were right. I don’t think it’s dead.”

“Dreaming about it, huh? What does it say to you?” Dean asked. Sam’s dreams had an eerie way of coming to fruition. Couldn’t hurt to hear what it said to Sam, even if it wasn’t prophetic. Better safe than sorry.

“Say to me? Nothing. I’m watching it, like in the other dreams. There’s more fire...I dunno, man, it’s not very clear but...be careful, alright? Especially if there’s some truth to what Cas is saying about the firstborns in our family.” He paused. “Does it say something to you?”

The kid was so fucking perceptive.

Dean shook his head and plastered on a grin. “Nah, nothing like that. Just curious.”

Sam rolled his eyes, clearly not buying Dean’s nonchalance, but changed the subject. “How’s the thing with Cas?”

“The bond?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh it’s just peachy.” His tone was harsher than intended, a repercussion of his attempt to distance himself from the emotional nature of the answer.

Sam frowned at him. “It’s bad?”

“No! No, not at all it’s just…” He rubbed his face with his hands and sighed. This was getting more complicated than he’d hoped. What was he supposed to say? ‘I know it sounds like a major invasion of privacy but it’s actually really nice?’ ‘I’m not lonely for the first time in ages?’

‘I think he likes it, too?’

That thought made him stop. Throughout all the emotions they’d shared, Cas never once seemed upset about the bond, and something about him welcoming that connection made Dean feel a little more worthy, a little more worthwhile.

“You’re smiling,” Sam deadpanned. “It’s creepy.”

Dean shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “No, it’s not bad at all.”

“Pretty vulnerable though, right?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“And you’re ok with that?”

“Yeah.” The answer was quiet, but more confident than he’d expected. “Yeah. I’m ok with that.”

 

Sam eventually left to work with Jo on some spells and Dean fell asleep on the couch, waking to soft swearing from another section of the library.

“Ben? What’s going on, bud?”

At fifteen he was still growing into his body, so he was tall and lanky, but babyfaced. Dean remembered that age. It sucked.

The kid sighed. “Cas wants me to learn this conversion spell, but it’s not working.” At the mention of him, Dean felt the familiar buzz. He must have come home from Madison.

“Can I see?”

Ben shuffled. “You’re an enchanter, dude. The magic you do is way more advanced than this.”

Dean shook his head. “Can I tell you something?” The kid nodded. “Until a few months ago, I hadn’t done any magic in over a decade. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. You could probably teach me a thing or two. So lemme see the damn conversion spell, ok?” He smiled soothingly and Ben relented.

“Yeah, ok.” He pointed across the space to a table with a glass of water on it. “I’m supposed to be converting that glass of water.”

“Into...what?”

Ben shook his head. “I dunno. I just keep saying the spell and it glows for a second then nothing happens.”

“Show me?”

The boy stretched his hand out in a move that Dean recognized from Cas and muttered the words, Latin by the sound of it. Dean had no idea what the actual meaning was, but he could see the threads of the spell manifesting themselves in a myriad of colors at the ends of Ben’s fingers and extending toward the glass. When the threads hit the water they pulsed, questioning, and when they received no answer, dissipated.

“Well?” Ben’s voice in the silence startled him and Dean realized he’d been frowning at the glass.

“I think...I think you have to tell it what you want it to be.”

“Huh?”

“When you conjure the threads-”

“Threads?”

 _Oh._ Ben couldn’t see the spell manifesting, just the results, or in this case, the lack of.

“The spell. When you finish saying the words, envision the water turning into whatever you want. Really focus on it. What do you want it to turn into?”

Ben eyed it for a moment before grinning.

“Beer.”

Dean laughed. “You ever had beer?”

“A few times,” Ben answered slowly as if trying to decide whether or not he was getting himself in trouble.

“Ok, fine. As long as you can picture it accurately.”

“If I get this right, can I drink it?”

“Yeah, man. But I get to taste it first.”

“Deal.”

Eagerly, they both turned back to the glass and Dean watched as Ben spoke the threads into life. They extended toward the water with more purpose this time and the second they hit Dean could see them swirling, shifting the molecules, carbonating, darkening. Sweat beaded at Ben’s hairline, but it was worth it. A moment later there was brown bubbly liquid where the water used to be.

Hesitantly, Dean sniffed it. “Not bad,” he said, sipping. “Not bad at all.” He offered the glass to Ben. “Check out your handiwork.”

“Oh my god. I did it,” he breathed.

“Right on.”

“Thanks, Dean!” A splash of beer fell over the rim of the glass as Ben hugged him, but he chuckled.

“Get goin’ kid. And maybe you should try juice next time. You know. Since you’re 15.”

“Yeah right,” Ben snarked amiably as he left.

“Yeah right,” Dean echoed, smiling.

“You’re quite a teacher.” Cas’s warm voice emerging from the shadows was not quite a surprise.

“How long have you been there?” Not that Dean cared one way or another, of course.

“Just a minute.”

“Liar,” Dean teased, and Cas tried his best to look offended.

Smiling goofily at each other, they headed back across the library.

 _You feel tired,_ Dean observed. _You ok?_

Cas let down his walls a little so Dean could see that in addition to exhaustion there was also relief, satisfaction. The job had been done well. It was finished.

“Good,” Dean murmured. They ran into each other as Cas swayed with tiredness and Dean caught him by the arm. “Easy, tiger.”

“I’m not a tiger,” he frowned.

“It’s a...never mind.” He had the good sense to act exasperated, but he found Cas’s literal interpretations of language incredibly endearing.

“You were quite impressive with Ben. Witch sight like that is rare, and that you could interpret it is even more remarkable.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Genuine pleasure spread across his skin, hotter where their arms were linked.

“It would be wonderful if you’d consider training. With me preferably, but Bobby and Benny are quite good too, though they’re magicians and not enchanters so there’s...What?”

Dean had let go of Cas’s arm as the sinking feeling replaced the pleasure. “Nothing, man. Uh, yeah, that’s fine, I’ll think about it.”

He gave a parting nod and started towards his own room, but Cas’s hand locked around his wrist. “You know I know you’re lying.”

Dean scuffed miserably at the carpet with the toe of his shoe. “Maybe I’m hoping you’ll just let me.”

“Dean, _please_. Why do you get upset whenever I bring up training? Are you afraid?”

“I’m not fucking afraid, Cas!” he bellowed, then reached back with his mind. _Sorry, Sorry, I’m so fucking sorry._

 _I just don’t understand,_ Cas thought sadly.

“It’s just…” God, why was this so hard? “Why do I have to be some expert to matter? Would you even give a shit about me if I weren’t an enchanter? If I was just some dude off the street, would I even matter to you?” He hated how soft his voice sounded.

“ _Dean._ ” His name was in Cas’s mind and on his tongue. “That’s what… Dammit Dean.”

He realized Cas was still holding his wrist as he was yanked forward and having his chin tilted up.

“You are kind and smart and interesting and strange and distractingly handsome. You would matter to me in every version of every lifetime. Alright?”

They stared at each other, minds open, when Cas seemed to realize what he’d just said. His eyes widened and Dean couldn’t help but glance down at Cas’s mouth, lips slightly parted, but as Dean shifted towards him he dropped their hands and headed towards his own room.

“Sweet dreams, Dean,” he murmured, not quite managing to keep all that fondness and lust and nervous energy pinned back behind his shields.

\--

“Oooh…” Dean sighed long and low, allowing the pulse of arousal to roll through him.

The dream was gone, but the morning wood remained.

 _About damn time_ , Dean thought to himself.

He was comfortable though, and sleepy, so he stretched his arms above his head and yawned, closing his eyes again. He’d almost fallen back asleep when he felt a hand close around him.

“Whatthefuck-” He ripped the covers back and looked down. Nothing but tented boxers. What just- “Oooooh.”

The invisible hand moved from base to head in a smooth, slick motion. Not invisible hand, he realized.

Cas’s hand. On Cas’s cock.

Attempting to achieve the mental equivalent of lying low, Dean probed at the bond. His walls had dropped in his sleep and Cas’s had too, probably for the same reason. He must’ve just started...taking care of business without thinking to pull them up.

Which was incredibly hot.

It took all his willpower, but Dean crossed his hands back under his head and relaxed. The strokes continued, smooth and slow for an almost unbearably long time. Dean settled into a steady, hazy sense of arousal. The only conscious effort he made was to not think about Cas directly. No sense in setting off the alarms, as it were.

A wave of lust rolled through the link accompanied by one ghost hand rolling his balls and the hand on his cock began to move more quickly. He gasped.

Oh shit. What if he came before Cas? There was no way he’d be able to keep it to himself, but he didn’t want to close himself off… Maybe Cas wouldn’t notice…

He was getting more worked up with every movement, both in the nervous way and in the sexy way, when something changed.

Very clearly through the bond Cas whined breathlessly, _Dean._

Dean came so hard his body jerked off the bed, and he felt it as Cas fell over the edge just a moment later, punching a shout out of him.

As he lay there panting he decided there was no way this wasn’t getting discussed at breakfast.

\--

“So...Cas…”

“What Dean?” He was reading the newspaper like an old person. Which, admittedly, he was.

Cas’s sleepy grumpiness was as intense as his bedhead, but Dean would not be deterred.

“You had a good morning.” He waited, letting the weight of the words hang in the air.

Cas blinked slowly at him, confused, then understanding dawned and he blushed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

The grouchiness returned, and so did the newspaper. “You know, Dean, sex is a perfectly natural part of life-”

“Oh it’s natural, alright-” Dean muttered as he scooted into Cas’s space, trying to pull his attention out of the business section.

“If we’re going to be sharing headspace, we might as well be honest about the fundamental and essential functions of-”

“Are we going to pretend you didn’t get off to me?”

They both stared open mouthed, but not for long because without breaking eye contact Cas said, “Are we going to pretend you didn’t want me to?”

Not, ‘are we going to pretend you didn’t get off, too’, which would’ve been an easier sell. But Cas spoke the truth, and they both knew it.

Dean wasn’t sure what to do with that, so he settled for a wicked smile. “I mean, I can’t blame ya.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Oh please.”

“What? I’m hot.”

“Yeah, yeah Don Juan. Keep telling yourself that.”

He was clearly embarrassed, but to Dean it was just fuel for the fire. Stretching casually, he yawned and scratched his side, hiking his shirt up higher than necessary. He didn’t miss the way Cas’s eyes roved over his stomach.

Cas shrugged and went back to his paper.

“Oh that’s how it’s gonna be,” Dean muttered.

With a look of wide eyed innocence, Cas tugged his lip between his teeth, and Dean mimicked him unconsciously before realizing himself. “Son of a bitch. It’s on.”

Over the next week, Dean was shirtless a lot more often, and Cas had suddenly rediscovered his collection of vests and tailored suit pants.

It went like this: Cas went out to work in the garden. Dean was running laps, shirtless, much closer to the garden plot than was strictly necessary.

They both winced when Cas pinched his finger in the handle of the shovel.

Then Cas was mysteriously looking for something in the great room where Dean and Charlie were watching Indiana Jones. He wore black pants tailored to his slim hips, a blue button up, black vest, and silver tie.

Charlie told Cas he looked hot just to watch Dean squirm, which he did and then some.

It went on like that for several amusing and increasingly frustrating days.

“Cas.”

Almost a week had gone by. They were usually the only two people in the kitchen this early, and Dean couldn’t imagine why, Cas wasn’t the slightest bit of a morning person, but there they were, and breakfast had become a kind of safe zone in the flirting war.

“Huh?” he grunted. Something about him in his pajamas was somehow sexier than his suits, and Dean had to shake his head to clear it.

“Ummmm… oh! I was thinking maybe I could come to work with you?”

Cas put down the paper. “What?”

“It’s just...I’m really bored man, and I’m loving my time off but I feel sort of...useless.”

This was a discussion he’d been wrestling with having for a few days, but flirting had kept him pretty busy. It was weird, not having anything to do. Sam was spending a lot of time with Jo and Ben, learning magic and being a teenager. It was like summer camp for him. But Dean had been working since before he was legally able to, and bouncing aimlessly around the house was starting to mess with his self-worth.

“It’s too dangerous,” Cas gritted out after a long silence. Dean was surprised at the harshness of his tone.

 

“Come on, Cas-”

“No. We don’t know where the demon is, what it’s plans are, until we do, it’s not safe for you to leave.”

Cas’s walls were sealed, so all Dean heard was the curtness of his voice. Maybe Cas just didn’t want Dean to come with him. That honestly made more sense than anything else. In fact, Dean was probably a danger to Cas. The demon’s voice echoed in his head for a moment, “Burn through everyone you’ve ever loved…” He didn’t notice his eyes widen in fear, but he was purposeful in clearing any emotion from his face immediately after.

“Fine.” He stalked out of the kitchen without having poured a cup of coffee.

“Dean, wait!” Cas called, but Dean was already gone.

\--

The next day, Cas went to Seattle to deal with a missing person’s case, and Dean went looking for other ways to make himself useful. He found Benny.

After explaining his feelings on the matter, Benny gratefully took him to task. There were repairs to be done all over the house, some landscaping, and a weather spell to keep the apple orchard thriving as long as possible.

Benny was easy to be around in a similar way as Sam, but unlike Sam, he could get his point across in just a few words.

“All good with you and Cas?”

Dean nodded. “Fine.”

“You went from flirting like teenagers to giving the cold shoulder.”

And that was it. Benny just left the conversation there. No judgement, no encouragement, no anything. Goddamn it.

Making things worse was the fact that after the last week of teasing, Dean was wound up badly. He hadn’t noticed Cas jacking off, maybe he was just more careful with his walls, but Dean knew he couldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t be able to keep all that sensation and emotion to himself. Especially now.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered.

“Keepin’ busy will help with what ails ya. For now.”

For a house full of people who could solve just about anything with a spell, the sure house had a lot of problems. On the other hand, Dean got a chance to see parts of the house he'd never seen before.

There was an art room (anti-dust charms), an interesting and disturbing storage room full of ingredients for spells (shatter-resistance on the bottles), and a whole new library Dean hadn’t know about (hex against rats and moths. Dean added a spider repellant just for good measure).

On the way to fix a few leaky pipes in Ellen’s bathroom, Dean glanced down a corridor he hadn’t noticed before, and something glimmering caught his eye. He broke away from Benny and slipped down the hall, stopping before a spelled door.

It was Cas’s magic without a doubt, and it was personal. This was no one-size-fits-all spell written in a dusty tome by some ancient mage, this was magic woven by him personally, ensuring that no one would enter. The spell shown in his witch sight was literally gold chains in a latticework over the wood, and at the center something floated, a globule of rusty red suspended in a wavy sphere. As he leaned in to peer at it, the energy that buzzed along the chains singed his eyebrows.

It was blood.

Dean took a step back. Cas didn’t want anyone in there. Not even him.

“Dean!” Benny’s voice startled him, and he scuttled back out into the sunlight, resolving to ask Cas about it later.

By the time Cas got back, he and Benny were doing their damndest to set the weather spell on the orchard. Benny was super drained from their day, and Dean couldn’t see enough of the spell to be of any help.

They were both cracking up after their third failed attempt. “Thought you were supposed to be some great enchanter,” Benny chortled.

“And you’ve had thirty years experience!” Dean shot back laughing. He slapped Benny on the back. “We got a ton of shit done today, though.”

“Yes, brother, job well done.”

A buzz zinged over Dean’s body and mind, and he turned to see Cas watching them with something close to a snarl on his lips. While Dean’s stomach jumped with lust, he also felt small and underdressed and confused, and was still smarting a little from the rejection that morning.

Benny gave Cas a wave but backed toward the house. “Thanks again for the help, Winchester.” The pleading look Dean gave him made no difference, he just grinned and was gone.

When Cas joined him, his face was serious.

“Everything go ok in Seattle?”

Cas nodded jerkily and extended his hand. The weather spell rolled out of Cas’s palm and Dean marveled at the intricate detail, like a giant tapestry hanging shimmering and translucent over the trees.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, but Cas was already striding back to the house.

“Cas!” He hustled to keep up. “Are you ok?”

He leaned on Cas’s walls, but they didn’t move.

“I’m fine Dean,” he muttered staring straight ahead, and then vanished.

“Goddamn it!” Dean snapped. Whether he was angry or horny or both, this was no time for Cas to be disappearing on him.

And disappear he fucking did. He didn’t show up for dinner, leaving the family vaguely unsettled, even though Ellen said it wasn’t unusual for him to skip. Dean couldn’t fall asleep that night. He tossed and turned for hours, feeling the whirl of Cas’s mind so close to his even with their shields up, both of them warring with something.

What the fuck was his problem? Had Dean said something? Done something? After all, Cas was the one that didn’t want Dean’s company. Cas was the one who had turned him away. Rightfully so. But still...

Dean finally got up, tossing the rumpled covers aside and pulling on a sweatshirt and some basketball shorts. Quietly he padded barefoot through the halls to the kitchen, running his fingers over the dust and spiderweb repellant charms as he went, feeling their cool tickle zip up to his knuckles.

He just wanted some fucking peanut butter. And some whiskey.

He was startled to find Cas already perched at the island in the kitchen, doodling on the back of a receipt and drinking something honey colored from a short tumbler. He wore only black sweatpants and Dean swallowed hard at the lines of his torso thrown into sharp relief by the dim lighting.

“Dean,” he said in his gravel voice without looking up.

Dean debated leaving for a moment, but then he noticed the bottle of whiskey left out on the counter and decided to finish his errand after all. He went to the pantry and pulled out the bread and a jar of peanut butter, tossing a few slices in the toaster before pouring himself a finger of whiskey in a mug, feeling awkward all the while.

“I may have found a solution that would hide you from the monster and allow you to join me at work. If you still wanted to, of course,” Cas said stiffly.

Dean pretended to debate it as he mixed the peanut butter, reincorporating the oil and the paste, but obviously he knew the answer.

“Alright. What is it? Another charm bracelet?

“Of a kind,” Cas replied. “But somewhere much more difficult to remove.”

“Where?”

“Your ribs.”

The toast popped up, startling them both, but Dean allowed himself a glance at Cas as he slathered an indecent amount peanut butter across it. It was more than a little difficult to focus with Cas looking gorgeous not feet from him, but he crammed a piece of gooey bread in his mouth and responded.

“I’m gonna need a little more info than that, Cas.”

There was nervousness in Cas’s mind, but he answered calmly. “I’ll spell protective runes on your bones. They should hide you from the being that is searching for you. You could come with me without being a target.”

“Could you spell Sammy too?”

Cas nodded.

“Will it hurt?”

He nodded again.

“Do it.”

“Right now?” Cas asked, surprised.

In response, Dean moved in front of him, so close that Cas moved his knees to either side of Dean’s hips. “Bare skin,” was Cas’s muttered explanation as he unzipped Dean’s hoodie and placed a searching hand over his sternum, and Dean was pretty sure he stopped breathing. “This will be bad,” Cas warned about the pain, and Dean grabbed the mug of whiskey from the table without moving his legs and downed it.

“Good to go,” he said, voice rough from the liquor, and Cas gave the first hint of a smile.

“You’re crazy.”

“You know it, baby.” Dean winced. He hadn’t meant to phrase it like that, it just slipped out, and now his face was heating up, and he almost took a step backwards but Cas grabbed him by the hips and held him tight, beginning the spell with a blush dusted over his cheeks.

A half-naked, sex-haired Cas chanting Latin over Dean’s body was a turn on he didn’t know he had. With each word, magic pooled in Cas’s palms, burning brighter and hotter, until finally he stopped speaking and pressed his hands into Dean’s chest. The spell sliced through flesh and sinew with a crunch, and Dean felt the runes sink into the surface of his bone. It was over in moments, and Cas caught him with an arm around his waist as he stumbled, running a soothing palm down his torso, which Dean had to step away from though he didn’t want to, because mesh shorts did little to hide boners. He smiled then winced as he slid onto a stool.

“Thought you didn’t need words to make magic,” Dean gasped, still winded from the pain.

“I don’t,” Cas shrugged, eyes strangely dark. “But some old spells are even more powerful than I am, and I’d rather not take a risk with you.” His cheeks reddened further and he looked away. “Or your brother, of course.”

Shyly, Dean coaxed the whiskey bottle to float from the counter to where he was sitting and after a nod from Cas, refilled both their glasses.

“So … Seattle really was ok?” Dean asked after he finally got his breath back. “You seemed off.”

“Yes...just had a long day,” Cas answered cautiously, sipping on his whiskey as easily as if it were tea.

Dean nodded, unsure of how to ask if he’d done something wrong when he noticed the picture Cas had been sketching. It was the face of a woman. She was beautiful, long hair falling in a gentle bend across one cheek and hanging down past her shoulders and her cheekbones were sharp like Cas’s. There was no color, but Dean knew her eyes were blue.

“Wow,” he said softly. “That’s beautiful.”

They both looked at her for a long beat then Cas shifted, finishing his whiskey, something like pain flickering across his face when he thought Dean wasn’t watching. “Eh. It’s just a sketch. Anyway,” he said, and Dean watched in horror as he crumpled the receipt up and sent it whizzing to the trash with a slightly spelled flick of his finger. “I think I’ll need help with a job tomorrow. Are you in?”

Dean nodded dumbly. “Yeah. Yes. Thanks.” Shaking himself, he added, “Cas,” and then stopped, uncertain of what he wanted to say. He settled on, “Are we ok?” Gently, he reached forward toward Cas’s barrier and lowered his a little, pressing an offering of friendship and perhaps a little too much affection into it.

Cas’s eyelashes fluttered for a moment a the feel of it, and although he didn’t lower his shields, the storm behind them seemed to quiet.

“Yes. Of course. I...I’m sorry about earlier,” he stammered.

Dean shook his head and stepped forward. “It’s cool man, shit happens. I was just worried.”

“Worried?” Cas stared at him and something in his face changed, softened. “Oh.”

“Yeah, Oh,” Dean ribbed. Cas turned to leave but smiled and Dean’s heart jumped at the sight of it.

“Sweet dreams, Dean.”

Cas left the kitchen soundlessly, pajama pants hanging distractingly low on his hips. Dean went to the trash, dug out the receipt which had thankfully landed on that day’s newspaper, and flattened it out on the counter. He watched her as finished his cup of whiskey. She looked up at him with wide, sad eyes, but so filled with love. There were stories behind those eyes, and power. Dean knew that look. It was a mother’s look.

He folded the picture carefully and tucked it in his pocket, shutting off the kitchen lights with a wave of his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super brief past tense references to Dean's unhappy life on the road including John Winchester's A+parenting and references to depression. Super brief.
> 
> Age weirdness of an ancient supernatural being posing as a high schooler and dating a few of her classmates. Completely offscreen and consensual.
> 
> Finally, smut.
> 
> <3

_Dean!_

“Mfff.” His face was pressed into the pillow, limbs sprawled every which way.

_Get up. Work to do._

“Blargh,” he muttered, grimacing at a slight headache from the whiskey the night before. Jesus, he’d been living way too healthily here if a few shots of whiskey were giving him a hangover.

_Blargh is not a word._

_Fuck you._

_Gladly. Now get your ass downstairs._

That woke Dean right the fuck up. He showered quickly and met Cas in the kitchen for the second time in as many hours. He looked completely different than last night, though to be fair, he looked completely different than he did on most days. Instead of a suit he wore pressed dark wash jeans and a blue tee shirt under a zip up. He looked deliciously casual and Dean gulped, grateful he’d bothered to wear his nice jeans.

“Good morning, Dean,” he muttered, his voice a sleepy growl, which should not have been a turn on but of course it was.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he shot back cheerfully, and dumped coffee into a mug, draining and refilling it once before finding a seat at the island. Charlie entered not long after, carrying a backpack and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“G’morning,” she grumbled and flopped down on a stool, putting her head down on folded arms and charming the coffee pot to fill a mug. Dean grabbed it and slid it towards her as she said, “What’s the job?”

Cas cleared his throat and said, “We’re going to San Diego. A friend of mine asked a favor. She thinks there’s a witch in her town but can’t track the culprit.”

Charlie grunted and Dean laughed at her before turning to Cas saying, “Nothing more than that? “A friend?” “A favor?” That’s all we get?”

Cas air quoted him right back with as much sarcasm as was humanly possible. “ _Yes._ ” Even Charlie snorted that time, and after eating a quick breakfast, the three of them found themselves standing in the warm sun, in the yard of a large house.

“Here goes nothin’,” Dean said cheerfully to Charlie as Cas rang the bell.

After a few moments of rustling, the door swung open and Dean nearly fell off the porch in surprise.

A short black woman with greying dreadlocks stood in the doorway frowning out at them in a way that was decidedly motherly, but Dean didn’t notice her expression at all because hundreds of tiny trails of light zoomed around her like miniature stars, in every color imaginable. She looked over Charlie, then Cas, and lastly Dean, and smiled a little at the look on his face before asking, “What do you see?”

Dean stammered. “You...you’re like a tiny galaxy.”

Charlie glanced over at him like he was crazy, Cas was looking at him with awe, and the woman laughed delightedly, the sound like bells. “You see auras! Amazing. Cas said you were remarkable. Come in, children. The name’s Missouri.”

She finally held the door open and they traipsed inside.

“What the hell, Dean?” Charlie hissed as they followed the woman inside. He shook his head distractedly and she pressed on. “Auras?”

“Yeah.”

“What does it look like?”

 

Dean considered the question and how best to answer it for someone who didn’t have witch sight. “Uh...it depends on the person. When I first meet someone it’s strong, hard to ignore, like something floating around them, but over time it fades.”

“What does mine look like?”

He smiled at her, focusing his eyesight past her physical self and into the magic swirling around her. “Like fairy lights, little starbursts dancing around you. They move faster when you’re happy, slower when you’re sad, and when you’re really tired they dim a little. Like this morning.”

They stopped in a cozy den and Missouri gestured for them to sit while she disappeared into the kitchen. Charlie took the lazyboy and Dean and Cas perched next to one another on a little sofa.

“Whoa,” Charlie breathed. “That’s so cool. So Missouri’s aura is like stars?”

Cas was staring at him with a disconcerting amount of focus, the faintest, sweetest smile on his face, and Dean had to look away.

“Kind of.”

“What about Cas’s?”

Dean stared at his hands in his lap. This was not how the day was supposed to go. He wanted a distraction, not an in depth analysis of the man he was falling in love with.

“Cas is like…” He breathed out finally, deciding to go for it. “Like the center of the sun. White hot and brilliant.”

He met Cas’s eyes and nervously realized that his walls weren’t up nearly as high as he’d thought, but Cas lowered his own, letting out awe and affection.

 _Very poetic,_ he teased gently into Dean’s mind.

Dean shrugged. _It’s what I see._

 _Yours is beautiful. It looks like sunlight reflected on water._ Dean blinked in surprise but Cas continued. _My mother’s was robin’s egg blue, like a fog._

_My mom’s was green and gold, like light through leaves._

A noise startled them and they looked up to see Missouri setting a tray of coffee and cookies onto the little table between them.

“Bonded, huh?” she said.

He nodded. “How’d you know?”

“Cas thinks you’re uncomfortable with the bond,” she said to Dean, ignoring his question. “Doesn’t believe you when you say you don’t mind it.”

Cas turned a ridiculous shade of red and opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but Missouri interrupted. “Oh, don’t. Dean here doesn’t believe you when you tell him he’s beautiful.”

“I never said -”

“He doesn’t say -”

They both spoke at the same time, words tumbling over each other, then stopped, avoiding one another’s eyes.

“We both know that’s not true boys. Dean, Cas thinks you’re beautiful. Cas, Dean loves that you’re bonded. Now get over yourselves. We’ve got a witch to hunt.”

Charlie was looking torn between delight and horror at the exchange, but at the mention of the witch she snapped back to attention. “Yeah, what’s going on?”

Missouri poured them each a cup of coffee and Dean pointedly ignored the heat of Cas’s leg where it pressed against him in favor of trying to pay attention to Missouri. Hopefully she wouldn’t be divulging any more secrets.

“I tutor at a summer program for the high school a few miles away. Boys are getting sick, and in the past two weeks I’ve seen noticed fewer than twelve with extreme exhaustion, burn marks on their necks, or both.”

“Like a brand?” Dean asked in horror.

She shook her head. “No. Fingerprints.”

“Draining youth?” Cas murmured to her.

“That’s what I’m thinking, but all the kids will say is that their parents have been acting strangely, and that the marks don’t hurt.”

“Maybe someone’s threatening them to keep quiet,” Dean offered and Missouri nodded.

“We got some good old fashioned detective work ahead of us. People know me here, so I can’t very well go poking around. Charlie, Castiel says you’re something of a hacker. I’d like you to stay here with me and do some research. Lover boys, I’ve got the addresses of the kids. Pretend to be from the school or something. See if you can find anything in the homes, hex bags, glamours, maybe even get the kids to talk to you.”

She held out a list of the students’ names and addresses to Cas and he examined it closely. “This will take hours.”

Missouri nodded. “Then you better get working.”

A cup of coffee later she kicked them out of the house with some charmed badges. “They say what you need them to say,” she explained.

Dean loved the spell on the badges, crisscrossing threads of shimmering grey that pushed and pulled the letters around depending on who was looking, and when Maggie Carpenter looked, they said U-T San Diego Newspaper.

“Hello Ms. Carpenter, my name is Oliver,” Cas said and Dean watched in amusement as the badges changed their names and rolled his eyes as Cas added, “and this is John. We’re from the U-T San Diego Newspaper and we’d like to speak to your son. Is Danny around?”

The tall woman looked at him, eyes narrowed and Dean noticed something strange about her. Muted. “Why?”

Her voice wasn’t particularly friendly but Dean smiled at her and said, “We’re writing an article for the local paper about students who show leadership at Danny’s high school.” Cas raised an eyebrow at his easy lie, but Dean just stood there looking genuine.

“He’s not doing well...he’s in tutoring,” the mother answered slowly.

 _What was that?_ Dean wondered about the strangeness hovering around her. It was like she was standing in shadow no matter how well lit the porch was.

“Academia is only one way in which to succeed Mrs. Carpenter. Danny shows excellent leadership skills, and additionally, he’s improving quickly in the tutoring program. Please, ma’am. May we speak with him?” Cas parried smoothly.

She shifted back and forth for a few moments before holding the door open. “Fine. But only a few minutes.”

Dean beamed at her. “Understood, ma’am.”

Mrs. Carpenter ushered them into the living room where they waited for her to retrieve the boy.

 _Something’s weird about her,_ he thought to Cas, who nodded.

_Agreed. How are we going to do this?_

_If she stays here, how can we question him?_

 

Cas tilted his head, squinting at Dean, deep in thought.

>You interview him. As him about his experience at school, friends. I’ll try to feel out any magic in the house or on the mother.

Dean nodded in agreement just as the young man entered. He looked a little pale, but other than that, very normal.

“Hey,” he said cautiously. “Can I help you?

“Hi, Danny, I’m John, this is Oliver, we work for U-T San Diego. You know it?”

“Yeah, the newspaper, why?”

“We’re doing an article on your school. You mind if I ask you a few questions?”

The kid still looked suspicious but nodded. “Ok.”

“Cool. So…” Dean fumbled for a moment, but Cas’s mind caught him with a ghost palm on his back and he felt his heart rate calm.

“So, let’s start basic. What grade are you in?”

“I’ll be a senior next fall.”

“You involved in any extracurriculars?”

“Baseball...I have to go to tutoring to keep my grades up. Don’t you have to write this down?”

Cas quirked a brow at him, but now Dean was in his element. He tapped the side of his head and grinned at the boy. “Good memory. What’s your favorite part of school?”

The boy shrugged. Something flickered across his face as he thought, excitement and nerves maybe, but it was so brief Dean thought he must have imagined it. “I dunno. Gym?”

“Least favorite?”

“Administration’s kinda got a stick up their ass, but it’s whatever.”

Dean snorted. “Sounds about right. You dating anyone? Girlfriend?” He paused. “Boyfriend?”

Disgust flickered across the kid’s face and Dean immediately stopped smiling.

“It would be a girlfriend.” For a moment the kid looked like he wanted to say something else, but then caught himself. “And no. There’s no one.” His cheeks were flushed though and Dean could tell by the way Cas caught his eye that neither of them were buying it.

They stuck around for a little while longer asking just as many questions as were needed to make their story plausible, then excused themselves. It seemed like interview number one was a bust.

Dean hadn’t even realized he was frowning, but as he they walked down the street to find an inconspicuous place to do the transportation spell, Cas asked, “What’s wrong?”

Dean startled. “Huh? Nothing.”

_Dean._

He made a frustrated noise in his throat before answering. “It just sucks that people are still weird about…” His voice trailed off and Cas looked confused. “Boyfriend, girlfriend, partner, spouse, I mean, who fucking cares, you know?”

“It’s strange,” Cas agreed. “Throughout history, Western culture has phased in and out of acceptance of homosexuality, but they never stop practicing it. Gender, sex, romantic and sexual identity, it’s all a spectrum. Why pin it down?” They stepped behind a hedge in a park around the corner and Cas pulled out the list of students Missouri had given him. “I’m sorry that it makes you uncomfortable though,” he muttered, looking at the paper and Dean felt the slightest pang of hurt from him.

“Cas,” he said, grabbing his wrist and forcing the list away so they could make eye contact. “I’m not uncomfortable with...being bi or any...relationship like that. I just don’t like - ” He paused, turning bright red and dropping Cas’s wrist. “I mean...say for example, we were dating.”

Cas nodded slowly. “For example.”

“I mean, what would be wrong with that? Nothing, right? It’d be awesome. So why do random people in a random town get to have any opinion of it? They don’t know us.”

“No, they don’t,” Cas responded, now smiling with such openness that it froze Dean in place. Cas looked so normal in his jeans and tee, but at the same time, so fucking gorgeous that Dean found he was having trouble breathing.

“Anyway,” Dean said, angling his body away. “We should get going.”

After several more interviews they finished the day at the house of a young man name Caleb Jackson. It was late, dark out, and Dean’s back was aching from sitting stiffly on countless couches. His voice was rougher than usual after asking the same questions a dozen times, but the relief at being almost done with the list made him mellow enough to be patient.

Cas sat beside him at the Jackson’s kitchen table, hands folded, surreptitiously glancing around the room. There had been no hex bags at any of the other homes, but all of the other parents Dean had met had that same shadow over them, making them not quite themselves, not quite present. He’d mentioned it to Cas who had noticed it as well, but for the moment neither of them had any idea how it was happening or what it meant.

Caleb was a sophomore and he looked thin, wan, more so than the other boys. After a few minutes of chatting with him it became evident that while many of the other guys on Missouri’s list were in the popular crowd, Caleb struggled socially at school. He was interested in visual arts, spent a lot of time in both art and computer club, but didn’t have many friends.

He was one of only two boys they’d talked to that day whose marks, fingerprints as Missouri had put it, were visible, just above his collar. After asking the basic questions Dean excused himself to talk to the mother as a way to get behind the kid and examine them. Cas continued the discussion, but so quietly that Dean couldn’t hear it even from the doorway of the kitchen where he stood talking to the mother.

Of all the parents they’d talked to, her shadow seemed the faintest. It felt like she was pulling her answers from a great distance away, taking her time and speaking slowly, almost as if it were a struggle.

“I worry about him,” she said, staring back into the kitchen absently. “He doesn’t have many friends. But he’s seemed happier lately.”

“He doesn’t seem...different? Sick perhaps, or tired?”

She barely blinked. “No.”

Dean nodded. “Alright well, thanks for-”

“She picked me first!” Caleb yelled, and everyone jumped.

“Of course she did, Caleb. Why do you feel the need to defend it?” Cas asked.

_She?_

_Girlfriend,_ Cas responded.

The boy looked down at the table, scratching at some nonexistent crumbs as he spoke. “She...she sees other boys sometimes. They think she likes them, but she doesn’t. Only me.”

“Does that bother you?”

Dean was surprised at how well Cas was handling Caleb’s outburst. He supposed he shouldn’t be though. Cas’s methods were sometimes unconventional, but he always got the job done.

“No,” he spat, sounding defensive. Dean opened his mouth to call the kid on it, but Cas pressed a gentle ‘ _wait_ ’ into his mind. He was right. The kid spoke again. “Ok, I mind a little. But...we love each other, you know? When you love someone, you stick around, even when it gets hard.”

All three adults watched Caleb in silence and when Dean glanced back at Ms. Jackson, her presence was stronger than before, burning through whatever the shadow was. “Caleb’s dad left us when he was young. I didn’t realize…” she stopped speaking and moved to sit next to her son. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, sweetie. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Caleb looked shy for a moment, but his mother’s hand on his shoulder seemed to bolster him. “She’s not my girlfriend exactly. She told me not to tell anyone about us, said they wouldn’t understand ‘cause she’s a senior and I’m a sophomore, but…” He trailed off. “Plus, you’ve been...kinda weird lately, Mom.”

 _Ask about the other boys,_ Dean thought at Cas.

_What?_

_The other boys his girlfriend goes with. Their names._

Cas frowned. “I know this is hard Caleb, but do you know the names of any of the other boys your girlfriend spends time with?”

Caleb nodded miserably. “Yeah, why?”

Dean was so fed up with waiting that he was half ready to throw a truth spell at the kid then wipe the memories, but Cas just sighed, saying, “I just...it would help me with something. Please?”

To Dean’s absolute shock, the kid answered, and all five of the names he gave were on Missouri’s list, guys they had talked to earlier in the day, despite none of them mentioning a love interest.

“And her name? Your girlfriend?”

The boy opened his mouth to speak and Dean watched slack jawed as a shadowy bubble of spell stretched across his mouth, trying to keep him from speaking. Cas did a double take then stared at Dean questioningly and Dean shrugged as if to say, _“If you don’t know how the hell would I?”_

The bubble stretched as the kid tried to speak, seemingly oblivious to what was going on, until finally the spell broke with a silent crack that made both Cas and Dean wince, and he murmured, “Alexandra Dalton. Alex.”

With the name and twelve hours of door to door interviews under their belts, Dean and Cas made a quick escape. As they stood on the sidewalk of the Jackson house Dean looked back to see the mother embracing the boy, squeezing him tightly, running her hand through his hair, and he felt a momentary pang at the thought of having a mother, cursed or not, to comfort him at that age. Jesus.

The twinge must have registered in their shared mental space because Cas clapped a hand to his shoulder in comfort before they ducked behind a large maple tree and he bent the space between them and Missouri’s house. The hand remained when they landed with a gentle flump in the grass of the front yard, then trailed down almost to his wrist until Cas finally let go as they emerged in the kitchen where Charlie and Missouri were laughing.

Missouri quirked a brow at the men and Dean had a feeling she’d seen more than he’d have liked her to, but Cas distracted them both when he said, “Charlie. Need you to find someone.”

She grinned, tugging a second laptop from the backpack she’d crammed under the table and flipping it open. “On it. What’s the name?”

“Alexandra Dalton. Student at Missouri’s school, and _everyone’s_ girlfriend,” Dean muttered, slumping at the table. “What’s that spell about?” He gestured to her laptop where little orange dots danced around the machine.

Charlie’s expression was borderline maniacal as she said, “Limitless Wi-Fi, bitches.”

Cas snorted, Missouri frowned, but Dean nodded appreciatively. “That’s actually pretty cool. Bet Sam would like that.”

“Limitless porn?” Charlie snarked, and Dean laughed aloud, hauling a tired high five over to her.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he joked, but apparently that crossed Missouri’s line of propriety by a lot.

“Enough of that,” she chided. “Dean, Cas, let me show you to your room.”

“Room?” Dean hadn’t even thought about where they were planning on sleeping that night, simply assuming they were going back to Cas’s.

“I called couch,” Charlie said, already typing furiously. “No offense, but I’m not sharing a room with either of you weirdos.”

“Here we go!” called Missouri, and by the time Dean and Cas had finished exchanging incredulous looks, she was already halfway up the stairs.

 _Why aren’t we sleeping at our place?_ Dean asked silently.

 _I’m not sure._ Cas paused. _Our place?_

“Not...I mean, yours...your place,” Dean blustered, but Cas stopped him on the landing with a hand at his elbow, unreasonably warm through two layers of clothing.

“I’m glad you feel like it’s yours. That was always my hope.”

“Always?” Dean teased, then faltered. Cas was looking at him shyly from underneath dark lashes, looking far more vulnerable and beautiful that any ripped, deadly, centuries old enchanter had any right to look.

“Boys!”

Missouri hollering from the second floor startled them both and they hurried up after her.

She was turning down the quilt of a bed in a soft blue room. Gauzy curtains hung in the window and the lamps on bedside tables filled the room with a yellow glow. It was a guest room for sure, no personal pictures and a stack of towels neatly folded on the counter of the adjoining bathroom, but pleasant. It was a relatively small room but the bed was pretty large.

Bed. Not beds.

“Uh...Missouri...ma’am,” he corrected as she glared at him, but he was promptly interrupted.

“No,” she said firmly.

“No?”

“No, you are not going back to Castiel’s tonight, for a number of reasons. Firstly, who knows what Charlie will find at any minute. If you’re on this case I need you here. Secondly, you are both severely drained from all that interviewing and space-hopping you’ve been doing today. Bending matter is exhausting, even for you bigshots. I need you rested. So. Dean, you appear marginally less worn out than Cas, you can transport the things you need for tonight and tomorrow from home, then you’ll eat dinner and get some rest.”

He was about to argue the two dudes-one bed thing, but the look on her face shut him right up. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now get cleaned up. Dinner’s in an hour.”

Cas was already tugging his jacket off and folding it neatly over the back of a chair. “Would you like me to retrieve clothing and toiletries for us?” His voice sounded normal but his shoulders were stiff.

Dean shook his head. “Nah. If you’re tired, I got this. Just...uh...how?”

“Oh. This will be good practice then,” Cas responded, plopping down on the edge of the bed. “It’s pretty similar to transporting people, like I did today. Fold the space, reach through it, and pull the objects you need back through the fold, like a needle through fabric. I should warn you though, pay special attention to keeping the objects whole or you’ll be dropping bits of whatever you’re transporting all over.”

“Oh no problem then,” Dean snarked with an eyeroll.

“Dean. This is well within your capabilities,” Cas chided.

The compliment sent a fierce shot of warmth through him, but Dean had the good sense to continue acting irritated. “Fine. What do you need?”

Within the hour they were both showered and dressed in sleep clothes. Dean tossed a duffle of Charlie’s stuff at her feet as they sat at the kitchen table, but she barely noticed.

“Good news and bad news, which do you want first?” Charlie said without looking up.

“Bad,” Dean responded, setting the table from the cutlery on the counter.

“Alex Dalton doesn’t exist. Technically.”

“Technically?” Cas asked.

“Technically. Luckily for you, though, I’m a magician and a badass.”

Missouri ladled what looked to be a thick stew into the bowls on the table and tossed a hunk of homemade bread on top, passing them out without disturbing the conversation.

“She’s a student at the school, but there are no birth records for her. I’m going through her recent credit history, travel expenses, the like, but nothing’s come up yet. I’m entering her into some facial recognition software, maybe we’ll get a hit from security cameras or news broadcasts.”

“Oh my god, Missouri...this is...oh my god,” Dean couldn’t finish the sentence, shoveling more stew into his mouth, and Missouri looked both horrified and pleased.

Immediately after eating Cas actually fell asleep at the table, and everyone decided to call it a night. Charlie promised to wake them if she found anything, and Dean dragged a yawning Cas upstairs. All worries about awkwardness and sharing the bed and offering to sleep on the floor disappeared when Cas sleepily crawled underneath the covers and pulled Dean down after him.

“C’m on, Dean. Bed,” he muttered, rubbing his face into the pillow and Dean couldn’t help but grin at the sight. By the time he finally got situated, Cas had rolled over and was dead asleep. Dean was quickly on his own way to unconsciousness, and if he leaned forward and placed a kiss between Cas’s shoulder blades, no one needed to know.

\---

Dean wasn’t sure what woke him, but it was soon clear he would not be going back to sleep. The sun was only just starting to creep in through the windows, and Cas’s face in the soft light was entrancing. He looked younger, the worry lines in his forehead smoothed to delicate shadows.

It was unnerving the ease with which Cas had infiltrated his life. Dean hadn’t made any new friends in years. It was mostly his fault. He was standoffish to everyone except pretty boys and girls he’d taken on as one night stands, but other than that, relationships were a no go. What was the point in getting attached if they’d be moving again in a month? He had a brother to take care of. Before that, being on the road with John Winchester didn’t leave much time for shmoozing. If Dean wasn’t busy helping his father chase his tragic obsession of finding the creature that took Mary, then he was peeling John off the floor and propping him up on his side so he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit. Or babysitting Sam. Or stitching up wounds. Or praying that maybe the next time he fell asleep, Dean wouldn’t wake up, that he’d finally get to rest after all.

Cas made a soft, hurt sound and Dean realized he awake and that both their shields were lower than usual. “Never wish that,” Cas murmured, squeezing Dean’s shoulder, and Dean realized he’d heard that last thought.

“Can you honestly tell me you’ve never thought it?” Dean shot back more gruffly than intended and Cas withdrew, physically and mentally.

.

“Cas...I didn’t mean…” Dean sighed and reached out, fingers brushing his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Cas nuzzled forward again and the morning light in his eyes made Dean hiss in a breath. “You didn’t like traveling with your father?”

Dean rolled to lie on his back before speaking. “He was a good dad before my mom died, you know. Sam doesn’t remember that version of him, he was too young. After,” he paused, trying to work around the lump in his throat, “He lost it. I remember being scared. He’d forget to feed us, leave us behind in random motels and come back for us days later. He was obsessed with finding the demon, and that became his life. We were just along for the ride. Mom died, but we lost them both.”

Cas nodded, face thankfully devoid of pity, instead a flicker shared sadness. “Sam’s lucky to have you. You’re a good brother.”

Uncomfortable, Dean shrugged. “I just did what anyone would do.”

“Dean.” The seriousness of Cas’s tone of voice made Dean turn to look at him. “You’ve done an exceptional job raising Sam and keeping your family together. What happened to you was…” He paused, biting on his lip for a moment and Dean had to stop himself from leaning in and doing the same. “Unfathomable. You both are alive and healthy thanks to you. You should be proud of yourself.” Softer he added, “I’m proud of you.”

“Cas,” Dean whispered. He’d intended for it to be in a tone of “you don’t have to say that” but the words came out quieter, less sarcastic and more desperate. Cas was looking at him similarly, hopeful, fond, and nervous as he propped himself up on his elbow. They were so close, close enough for Dean to feel the heat of Cas’s body, making him twitchy and giddy, and then Cas was leaning forward, thumb pressing at the hollow of Dean’s collarbone and somehow neither of them were breathing.

“Dean! Cas! Wake up, bitches! I found her!”

They both jumped and while Cas blushed, Dean covered his face in his hands and groaned in frustration. He flopped out of bed muttering, “Goddamn it, Charlie,” and cracked the door open, repeating the sentiment.

She just grinned. “Up and at ‘em, soldier.”

He rolled his eyes and slammed the door in her face, but he and Cas were both showered (separately, unfortunately) and downstairs within the half hour. Dean poured a cup of coffee for Cas and slid it to him as he sat down, holding his own coffee in his mouth hoping the bite and burn would distract him from his frustration. Missouri was nowhere to be seen but when Dean looked at the clock it read 5:57 a.m. Ugh.

“So, this is all kinds of weird, but it’s our kind of weird, so I’m optimistic,” said Charlie.

 

“Explain,” Cas said, his voice like gravel this early, and something about the command sent a shiver through Dean. Charlie was not impressed.

“Easy there, Pops.” Cas rolled his eyes, looking momentarily like a sullen teenager, which was not in any way adorable. At all. “So here’s what I found.

“The name didn’t turn up any viable hits in any national or international databases, so I pulled her photo from the school website and ran it through a facial recognition program.” A dark haired, dark eyed girl peered from the standard grey background of a school picture. She was incredibly pretty, long lashes, glossy straight hair, caramel skin tinged with a blush of health, but the sadness on her face belonged to a much older person. “For someone with no name, her face sure does show up a lot,” Charlie said.

The image loaded to the screen was a newspaper clipping, not from San Diego but instead from the Chicago Sun Times. In 1982.

It was a headline about the Chicago Tylenol Murders. There was a photo of press hounding a man on the steps of a courthouse. “This was the incident that lead to tamper-resistant packaging,” Cas murmured. “I looked into this when it happened, but no one could find a good suspect.”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah, the guy in the photo is the original suspect, but it turned out he was living in New York at the time of the murders. But he’s not the interesting one. Look.”

Her finger dropped behind the suspect and pointed instead to a woman who appeared to be with the press. Her dark hair was pinned up away from her face, revealing a furious expression as she stared in the direction of the suspect.

“It’s her,” Dean breathed. “But she looks exactly the same.”

“And I haven’t even gotten started. Check this out,” Charlie continued. She pulled up another photo, but this one looked older, black and white and grainy.

“Where’s this one taken?” Dean asked.

“And when?” Cas added.

“New Orleans, 1932.”

The girl looked exactly the same. Charlie pulled up a yearbook photo from a women’s college in Boston in the 1870s. Her again. Different name, same face. When there were no more photos (because photography hadn’t progressed to that point during the dates they were looking at) Charlie had managed to find a sketch in an early romantic artist’s notebook that looked suspiciously like her, on and on. The last image she pulled was a photo of a set of small sculptures.

“Kali,” Dean observed quietly of the largest sculpture, and Cas hummed his approval. The Indian goddess was a popular image, but he didn’t recognize the other statues. Except…

The twist of clay was almost too small to tell, but it was her, dimple on the left side, wide eyes, a characteristic swoop of the hairline. The girl danced at the feet of Kali, and Cas suddenly jerked up as if shocked awake. “Daayan.”

“Huh?”

“The daayani are witches of Indian folklore. They serve the goddess Kali. It was believed that they could drain the youth from their victims in order to keep themselves young.”.

Cas must’ve felt the surge of Dean’s anger because although he nodded his assent, he also said, “Daayani are created when a woman dies from abuse in the care of her family, or from neglect during childhood.”

Charlie chimed in. “Yeah, it says here that some people believe that the daayani drain the life from victims hoping that they will be together in the afterlife. Someone to keep them company.”

That hit too goddamn close to home, and Dean swallowed harshly. “Ok. So. What do we do?”

Cas sighed. “Well, a daayan will continue to feed until it’s victims die. This one seems to be using a multitude of victims in order to extend their usefulness, but eventually it will come to the same end. Unless we can convince her to leave.”

“She’ll just end up in another town,” Charlie argued.

“Not leave the town,” Cas responded. “Leave this world. Free her spirit.”

“How the hell do we convince some crazy witch lady to give up the ghost?” Dean argued. “Ask nicely? That is, if we can even find her.”

“It’s not the most foolproof plan but I’m afraid I don’t know what else to do. I’m not a fan of killing anyone unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Cas said, and Charlie pursed her lips but eventually nodded.

“Just in case, though,” Dean said quietly. “How do you kill a daayan?”

 

In the end, the finding was easy. On their way back to the Jackson home to ask Caleb where she might be, they spotted her sneaking out a window at the back of the house, glowing in the early morning light. Dean stepped forward, ready to catch her, but Cas jerked him back behind the neighbor’s fence and clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the indignant shout. Dean congratulated himself on not licking his palm, but quirked a questioning brow instead.

 

“Too many people,” Cas muttered. “This isn’t the place for a fight. Work a cloaking spell and we’ll follow her.”

 _Ok,_ Dean thought, then added with some confusion, _Wait, why don’t you do it? Are you still tired?_

Cas shook his head. “No. Yours are just better.”

Dean scoffed but Cas’s expression didn’t change, continuing to look expectantly at Dean until he shrugged and turned a palm up as a base for the spell. Reaching for the cool tendrils of power flowing ceaselessly below his feet and behind his sternum, he coaxed them into a ball of iridescent lavender who’s only wish was to make something inconspicuous, then snapped his fingers and the ball exploded billions of tiny droplets, hanging around them like a vapor.

It felt correct, strong, but Dean stepped away from the cover of the fence and waved at a neighbor not twenty feet away in order to check. The guy barely blinked much less acknowledged Dean’s wave and he turned back to Cas, grinning, and got out the words, “Good to go,” before Cas’s facial expression stopped him.

“What?” he muttered.

Cas stared at him, awed, before thinking, _You work magic like no one else I’ve ever known._

Embarrassment was Dean’s initial reaction, but Cas interrupted it saying, “It’s incredible Dean. You’re incredible.”

Too much. Dean abruptly turned and moved down the sidewalk to follow the daayan but when he felt a small flicker of hurt in their shared headspace he gave a, _Thanks Cas._

They followed the girl for over a mile until hey ended up in a more secluded part of town with only one house in sight and trees thickening into the beginning of a small forest, where Cas nodded to Dean and they shook off the cloaking spell as Cas called, “Daayan!”

The girl startled, jumping around to face them, initially angry, but then her jaw dropped. “What are you?” she said, the vibration of her low voice wrapped in tendrils of power. It was easy to see how she could ensnare someone’s affection with a voice like that.

“It is not of import,” Cas said calmly. “We’re here to ask you to leave.”

She scoffed. “Leave? As if you wouldn’t follow me to the next town and the next. As if I wouldn’t starve in weeks, even if I leave this grove alive.”

Cas frowned at her. “Leave this reality. Go home.”

Dean watched as her face changed a half dozen times before settling on contempt, but he hadn’t missed the sadness, the longing, the hope. “I would never,” she growled.

“Then we’ll have to kill you.” Dean spoke matter of factly.

“Wait,” Cas said, stepping forward. He put a hand on Dean’s arm and again said, “Wait.”

The girl put her hands on her hips and eyed him. “You’re both very beautiful.”

Dean watched her aura float in ribbons of red around her body as Cas looked at the girl in surprise. “You’re not afraid. You’re tired.” Cas peered at her more closely, squinting. “You’re lonely. Is that why you take them? Do they stay with you after?”

She drew herself up, though she still stood a solid foot shorter than either of them, and spat in the dirt. “Fuck you. I’ve no need for a human other than as a meal or a pet. I am outside of time. They are beneath me. I would’ve thought you’d understand that, Enchanter.”

Something unpleasant shifted in Dean’s stomach but Cas just shook his head. “It’s because I share your position that I know you’re wrong. We both know you’re bluffing.”

Like someone cut the strings of a marionette, the girl slumped to the ground, a tiny eddy of dust puffing out from beneath her. Cas settled in front of her and Dean joined him, tugging his jeans up as he folded his legs. Initially, she didn’t speak, just rested her cheek on the knees she’d drawn to her chest and breathed deeply. The only sound was the forest, leaves and birds and cicadas for so long that Dean’s eyelids began to droop, his body warmed by the sun and calmed by the release of magic he’d given to the cloaking spell.

“The psychic sent you,” she said finally, as a statement, not a question.

Cas gave a small nod. “Yes.”

“I should kill you.”

“You know you cannot.”

She shifted. “You loved one once?”

He eyed her for a moment before speaking. “At the very beginning.”

“And now again, at the very end,” she said. “As I do.”

“Caleb.”

“You think me foolish?” she murmured, and he shook his head.

“Not at all.”

“He is hardly grown.”

Cas shrugged. “And yet he matters to you.”

“As _he_ does to you,” she said, gesturing to Dean.

Dean stiffened as they both looked at him. Cas held himself deliberately still and separate, making Dean nervous.

“What do they call you?” Cas asked finally.

“Mahima,” she said, still looking at Dean, then sighed. “I am so tired, but I do not wish to leave him.” Her voice was quiet now, barely a whisper.

“He deserves life. It will be moments to you, between now and his natural death. Do you love him enough to let him go?”

“Could you let him go?” she said of Dean.

“To save him?”

Cas nodded without pause. “In a heartbeat.”

“Will you tell Caleb? Will you tell him I loved him?” 

“Tell him yourself,” Dean said, finally speaking, gesturing to the small figure trudging up the dusty road with his hands in his pockets. He must have followed them.

The daayan stumbled to her feet and over to the boy. Dean went to follow her but Cas caught his arm. “Give her time.”

Dean swallowed dryly and obeyed.

This was too weird. He’d anticipated a fight. Adrenaline was buzzing through his muscles making him twitchy and anxious, half expecting her to finish the job while he and Cas stood by passively.

But instead of a fight, he got to watch as an ageless goddess and a young man stood in the grass. They were crying and speaking softly, and Dean watched their auras twining together around them as they stood, fitting together perfectly, two halves of the same whole.

And no peace even for them.

_Fuck._

Cas heard him, obviously. Dean had been slipping up, letting his shields slide down the past few days, and he pulled them up quickly, checking the seams to be sure nothing could leak out.

“Dean?”

He shook his head, trying to clear it.

“Are you all right?”

They both winced at the lance of anguish that ricocheted between them, but neither said anything of it.

\--

Dean had gone to bed the second they returned home and woke unpleasantly early in spite of his wishes to stay unconscious for as long as possible. He lay curled up on his side for a long time watching the light creep across the carpet, prodding and pulling at the sadness the case had left behind.

The daayan had kissed the boy goodbye and breathed herself out, and then she was gone, leaving Dean, Cas, and a Caleb standing on the sunbaked earth.

Dean had been a little out of his mind ever since.

Thoughts about his parents came first. Mary was full of light and John loved her more than himself. More than their sons. More than life. In the end, his love for Mary tore him apart. And now he and Cas had...whatever the hell this was and he knew he was already past the point of no return.

He couldn’t un-love the guy, and to be honest, didn’t want to. He just needed to sort out his thoughts, so when Cas knocked on his bedroom door and subsequently on his mental walls asking to be let in, Dean just asked for some time alone.

He moped for most of the day. And then he went to find Benny.

Benny was level headed about everything, but he wasn’t cold. He’d been a good friend to Dean over the past few months, and proved himself invaluable in giving advice. If anyone could talk Dean out of this clusterfuck of a mental spiral, it was him.

He found the bear of a man running laps around the property, and instead of waiting for him to finish, Dean joined him. Benny gave him a look but didn’t try to talk until they both collapsed almost an hour later, on the front steps of the house.

“What’s eatin’ you brother?”

Dean lay flat on the cold granite before answering. “This last case…” he trailed off but Benny made no move to intervene, so he continued. “There was this couple...they were soulmates man, and they couldn’t be together.”

Benny nodded. “Yeah, Charlie told me about that. I’d be willing to bet the dayaan’ll wait for the boy til it’s his time to go, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I do. It’s just shitty, I guess, to know that even soulmates aren’t guaranteed some kind of …”

“Happy ending?” Benny supplied. “No such thing, brother, as happiness or endings. Only chances.”

“Pffff,” Dean let some air out from between his lips dubiously before saying, “I dunno. My parents got an ending. Not a happy one, but they’re done.”

“Only ‘cause you can’t see ‘em.”

“Huh?”

“Boy-o, if you think this is it you got another thing comin’.”

“Oh come on, Benny. Are you really trying to tell me there’s some kinda heaven?”

“Some kinda, yeah.”

Off his rocker, Dean thought. Bat-shit crazy.

“M’not crazy Dean. Just not arrogant ‘nough to act like I understand everything. There’s more out there boy. Tell me you can’t see it. Feel it. ‘Specially with that witch sight o’ yours.”

“Yeah, alright,” Dean muttered, taken aback. Benny was right, but he’d come here for answers, not more questions, so he turned the conversation back. “Just makes me wonder if it’s…”

“Worth it?”

The front door opened and both men straightened a little from where they were lounging. It was Cas.

“Oh,” he said, looking surprised.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said with a small smile at the same time Benny said, “Heya boss.”

“Good morning,” Cas said stiffly, and Dean watched as something broken flicked across Cas’s face. He pulled his walls down minutely to listen in case Cas wanted to say something. And oh, did he want to say something.

_You should’ve told me._

_Huh?_ Dean responded.

_You didn’t want time alone. You wanted time away._

“Cas.” Dean felt the ache seep from behind Cas’s walls, but he disappeared before Dean could correct him. No, no, no, he couldn’t lose him now, not like this. On his feet in an instant, Dean turned back to Benny to see the man watching him kindly.

“What?”

“Is it worth it, Dean?”

“Yes!” he responded, so emphatic it was almost angry. Benny nodded, smiling, and Dean realized Benny had given him what he’d been looking for. There was his answer.

“Thanks man,” he said, but Benny waved him away.

“Go get ‘im.”

For once, Dean listened.

He could sense Cas in his bedroom. Squeezing his eyes shut Dean pictured the soft cream carpet, the pale blue of the walls of the hallway outside it. With a slam, the whole world tilted, but then his feet hit carpet and the threw out a hand to catch himself.

“Open the door, Cas.” He leaned against the wood of the bedroom door.

“No.”

“Why?”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know! To talk to you? Make sure you’re ok? Hear your voice?”

“What’s wrong with Benny’s voice?”

Oh. _Oh._

“Cas…”

“It’s fine Dean.” His voice was tight.

“It’s not fine!” Dean shouted, surprised to hear his voice crack with emotion. Embarrassed, he turned away, but the bedroom door clicked open and he froze. Cas was giving nothing on his face or into their shared headspace, leaving Dean feeling nervous. “What’s your problem?”

“ _My_ problem?”

“Yeah! What, you don’t like Benny?”

Cas actually looked a little taken aback. “What? Why-”

“‘Cause he’s my friend, and actually gives damn good advice, so - ”

 

“Advice about what? You said you wanted to be alone!”

The pulse of jealousy was so intense it was practically audible, but Dean couldn’t be bothered to care, he was just so grateful to finally get a read on the guy. “I had to talk to him because I needed advice about you!”

“What about me?”

Dean stared at him, open mouthed. How the hell was he supposed to say this? At his silence, Cas rolled his eyes and started to close the door, but Dean caught him by the shirt and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Cas jerked his head back to stare at Dean, expression indecipherable, and just as Dean was about to run away and hide in the furthest corner of the world Cas yanked him inside the room and pinned him to the door, kissing him fiercely.

It was akin to drowning, but transcendent, all the joy and arousal winding around, saturating them. Just like their friendship, just like the bond, kissing Cas felt right, completing, like a phantom limb regrowing. Dean scrunched his eyes shut, trying to get a grip on himself, but the scratch of Cas’s stubble along his jaw was not helping.

“Dean.”

Cas’s sounded wrecked, and Dean wrenched his eyes up to look at him.

“You want this? Me? Because if this is just-”

“Yes, Cas,” Dean breathed. _I want you._

He managed to keep the _I’ve wanted this forever_ tucked away somewhere deep in his thoughts, and was congratulating himself on that when something from Cas’s mind swirled around him.

The depth of Cas’s desire for him knocked the air from Dean’s lungs. It made every moment of self-doubt and disappointment seem so silly, because there he was, Cas freakin’ Novak, heart literally overflowing with something dangerously close to love for him, and _that_ was _way_ too much to deal with.

In a swift move, Dean flipped them over, crushing Cas to the door, and although they both felt the thread of Cas’s worry, they ignored it.

Dean kissed him again, then down his neck, stopping at Cas’s collar to undo his tie.

“You’ve been kind of distracting lately,” Dean growled.

“Me?” Cas sounded incredulous. “I’m not the one who’s been walking around half naked.”

Dean grinned in satisfaction. “I’d say we were both effective in our approach.”

He scraped his teeth over Cas’s collarbone as he popped the top few buttons of his shirt then dropped to his knees to finish unbuttoning the rest. He grinned up at Cas, watching his chest heave, feeling drunk with power. Cas reached down to touch Dean’s face, and he leaned in to the touch, grounded by it.

 _Beautiful,_ Cas thought.

Dean blushed, but ran his palms over Cas’s bare stomach and chest, enjoying the flutter of muscle beneath his fingertips. He leaned in, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses between Cas’s hipbones, who shuddered and sighed.

“Didn’t know you were into tats, Cas,” Dean murmured into his skin over the small pentagram on his hip surrounded by tiny runes.

“You’re wearing too much clothing,” Cas grumbled, ignoring him, and an instant later Dean found himself shirtless.

“In that case,” Dean murmured with a wicked leer, and tugged Cas’s zipper down, “these have gotta go.” Cas shimmied the fitted slacks down his hips and Dean pressed him back into the door, holding his hips in place. Dean mouthed over his cock, soaking his boxers with spit before slipping his fingers beneath the waistband and pulling them down. Teasingly, he nipped at Cas’s thighs, hips, stomach.

“Dammit, Dean.”

Dean blinked up sweetly. “What was that, Cas?”

Blue eyes blazed down at him with a hint of a glow, pupils blown wide and Cas gave a strangled groan, desperate.

Perfect. Dean swallowed him all the way down once before pulling off and teasing the underside of Cas’s cock with his tongue. Cas was burning up under his lips, and Dean loved it.

“Been wanting to do this...for a long time…” Dean gasped when he pulled off for a moment. He moved lower and Cas slammed his head against the door in response.

“I thought you weren’t interested,” Cas panted. His eyes were closed, but his mouth hung open, lips bitten red. He looked gorgeous.

 _I was scared,_ Dean thought.

Shit. He was pretty sure Cas had heard, but he didn’t respond for long enough that Dean thought he might have gotten away with it.

Then Cas whispered, “Me, too.”

Cas’s cock was buried deep in his throat and he whimpered against it, overcome with the lust and vulnerability bouncing between them. Something about that little noise made Cas’s control snap, and he hauled Dean up with inhuman strength to kiss him again.

Dean felt a hand at his stomach, then Cas was shoving his shorts and boxers out of the way and taking them both in hand, which had Dean immediately doubling over, face nestled in the crook of Cas’s neck.

“Shit, Cas. That’s perfect.”

The quiet sounds Cas was making in Dean’s ear were moving him embarrassingly quickly towards orgasm, little breathy groans. When Dean pulled back to look at him he was rendered speechless. Cas’s hair tumbled onto his forehead in damp locks, his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes glowed faintly. He smiled at Dean, breathless, and Dean couldn’t help but reach out and push the curls from Cas’s forehead followed by a soft kiss, too affectionate for a jealousy-induced hand job, but he couldn’t help himself.

Cas pulled his walls up a little and Dean was surprised when he felt the waves of longing, mourning, like Cas thought he wouldn’t get to keep this.

To be fair, that feeling could’ve actually have come from either of them.

Regardless, he wanted Cas to feel good, and he wanted to pretend for a moment that this was something they could have. He bit Cas’s neck and the moan he got in response yanked them both out of their heads and toward release.

“Cas...I’m…”

“Yes,” Cas moaned. He opened his eyes and Dean could hardly breathe at the sight of them.

 _You’re so beautiful, Cas,_ he thought.

Cas ran a thumb over his cheekbone and across his lips. _Beautiful,_ he responded as he came, hard.

Dean’s orgasm tore through his body. Knees weak, he slumped forward into Cas, who caught him, and shuddering, they stumbled together to the bed.

Separated only by inches they lay catching their breath but for some reason Dean was suddenly hesitant to cross the space and touch Cas. The sentiment was ridiculous, being nervous to touch someone who’s dick had just been in his mouth, but there it was.

He hiked his barriers up nice and high, thinking to himself, _maybe I should go_. There had been no discussion of relationship, only passive aggressive flirting. What if Cas didn’t want to be with him? Did he even want to be dating someone right now? Maybe this was a bad idea -

A warm arm slid under his shoulders, pulling him in, and Dean found himself tucked under Cas’s chin and pressed along the length of his body.

“You’re thinking awfully hard over there,” Cas murmured. “Anything you want to share?”

Whether Cas wanted to cuddle or he sensed that Dean needed some comfort, the issue was resolved for now. He shook his head. “No. All good.”

With two fingers under his chin Cas tilted Dean’s head up and scanned his face. “I enjoyed that very much, Dean.”

Dean blushed all the way down to his chest and nodded. A truly complete response would’ve been far too vulnerable, so he settled on, “Me, too.”

Cas ran his hand through Dean’s hair and a mental sigh of relaxation swept through them both.

“Sorry about being pissy this morning,” Dean murmured. “That shit with the daayan...it kickstarted some thoughts I wasn’t ready for.”

Cas’s hand had stilled and Dean glanced up to see him with that sad look again, though he quickly smoothed it out. “I’m sorry as well. I...overreacted about you. About Benny.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s ok, Cas,” he said with a grin. “Who knows how long it would’ve taken us if you didn’t go all crazy jealous.”

This time it was Cas’s turn to blush.

Dean huffed a laugh and pulled Cas down to him to kiss his forehead.

“It’s been a long day. I’m gonna head to bed.”

As he sat up he felt the hurt ripple through their shared space, though Cas did an incredible job of keeping the look from his face. There was nothing more than a flicker in his eyes. Dean responded with soft, slow words. “Or I could sleep here. If you want.”

Even with their walls up, he could feel the truth of it as Cas kissed him long and deep, asking him to stay.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some grotesque imagery along the lines of previous descriptions.
> 
> But then there's some sex. Later. After. Completely unrelated to demons.

Dean was curled up in a windowsill in the library. He had started in a sitting position, but _Martian Chronicles_ was longer than he remembered, and as the shadows crept across the floor, Dean slumped further down into a slouch. When Cas found him, he was folded into right angles.

“That cannot be comfortable.” Cas’s tone was dry, but his eyes sparkled.

Dean winked as he sat up. “Well, I’m not hundreds of years old, so I’m a little more flexible…”

“If you’re going to be a pain in the ass, you needn’t join me on this job.”

He hopped down eagerly. “I mean...I can’t make any promises, but…”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Put on a suit and meet me downstairs in an hour.”

“I don’t have a suit,” Dean said, but Cas had already disappeared. “Goddamn it.”

“Language!” Ellen hollered as she passed.

He found himself staring at his closet. Each time he opened it, it was the usual stuff: tees, flannels, jeans.

“Come on! Gimme something!” he hollered and gave it a rap with his knuckle. When he opened it again, all his clothes were gone. “Jeez, sorry, sorry,” he said, holding his hands up in defeat. This time he shut his eyes and focused (politely) on the suit he hoped to find in the closet. Sure enough, when he reopened the doors, his clothes were back, and a blue suit hung from the rail.

“Sweet.”

 

“How do I look?” he asked.

Cas was standing hunched over the island in the kitchen reading something serious-looking in a green folder. “Jesus christ Dean, I’m sure you look just...fine,” he breathed as he finally turned around.

Dean blushed. “Fine as in fine, or fine as in _fine_?”

Cas frowned. “I don’t understand. You just said the same thing twice.”

Dean facepalmed. “Never mind.”

Cas reached for him. “You look sexy as hell, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The dumbfounded look was still on his face when their feet landed a marbled foyer, and Cas was laughing. Dean would’ve had a smartass response, but a man crossed the floor, hand outstretched, and Cas stepped forward with familiarity.

“Novak. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“Agent Henriksen.”

“This must be Dean Winchester. Novak told me you’d be coming. Are you a magician too?”

Dean nodded and shook Henriksen’s hand. “More or less.”

_I can’t tell if you're being modest, self-deprecating, or lazy with that description._

_Maybe I don’t feel like sharing my life’s story. Ever think about that, Cas?_

Cas raised an eyebrow, but turned back to Henriksen. “Alright. What’s going on?”

Henriksen turned on his heel. “Follow me.”

At one point Dean turned to Cas and thought excitedly, _Wait. Are we at Quantico?_ Cas just rolled his eyes. Dean couldn’t tell whether that meant “Yes, duh,” or “Of course not.”

An elevator, several hallways, and a flight of stairs later, they found themselves in a conference room with a large screen on the wall. The agent spent a few moments messing with the computer on the table before saying, “Alright. This is Carl Barclay. He’s undercover in one of our longest running operations. Last week, he went off script. Bad.”

Dean watched Cas frown at the images Henriksen loaded to the screen. He looked intimidating in his pressed suit, and strangely comfortable in this bizarre situation. _He’s kind of a badass,_ Dean realized.

Cas turned to smirk at him and Dean yanked his walls back up, blushing.

“He killed one of the guys in the cartel, which was not part of the directive, but more concerningly, he killed three of the girls being trafficked, girls he was sent there to help.”

“People are not inherently good, Agent. Sometimes they do bad things.” There was an old sadness in Cas’s voice as he spoke, but Dean was certain he was the only one that heard it.

Henriksen nodded. “I’m not arguing that. But Carl wouldn’t do this. Maybe one, to keep his cover, if someone forced his hand, but he’s a good guy, Novak. He’d find a way not to have to kill more.”

Cas still looked skeptical, but relented. “So, what do you want us to do? This isn’t the usual meet up.”

“I don’t think Carl is Carl anymore.”

“You think he’s been possessed.” It wasn’t a question.

“Or something. Will you take a look?”

 _Since when does the American Federal Government deal with the occult?_ Dean mused.

Cas’s eyebrows drew up again. _Roughly 1776. I don’t like this, Dean. You’ll have to be very careful._

Dean shrugged. _I’ve had plenty of experience with demons, remember?_

_The “demon” that attacked you and your family wasn’t really a demon._

“Say what?” Dean said loudly. He glanced at Henriksen, but the agent was ignoring him.

_Demons are hell creatures inhabiting a vessel. Your “demon” looks the way it does because its centuries old, but technically it is still the person it was all those years ago. Nothing’s possessing it. I hid you from that creature. A true demon, however, can possess vessels without their permission. If anything goes wrong, you get the hell out of there._

_No way._

“You agree to those terms, Winchester. You’re not coming otherwise,” Cas said sternly.

Dean held his hands up in defeat. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

He wondered whether Cas knew how little intention he had of following that order.

“Good,” said Henriksen, finally glancing up. “Then our people will get you in the front doors. We’ll brief you on the layout of the building where they’re-”

“No,” Cas interrupted. “We’ll get ourselves in.”

Henriksen only blinked at him for a moment before continuing. “Ok. Check it out. If you can...cure him?”

“Exorcise him.”

“If you can exorcise him, then do that. Ideally, I’d like him to stay undercover, but if need be, get him outta there. Try not to kill anyone, cartel or otherwise. It’ll be headache to explain.”

“Understood,” Cas said curtly.

“Thanks, Novak. I know this isn’t your usual gig, but...this agent is one of the good guys. I need to make sure he’s ok. Anything else you need from me?”

“Uh, a gun?” Dean interrupted.

Henriksen conceded his point saying, “You got a preference?”

“Glock 22 is fine, HK45 if you got it.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but Henriksen smiled. “I think that can be arranged.”

An hour later, Dean and Cas were standing in a basement room of the FBI building.

“I’ll do the exorcism. You keep your ass in one piece. And try not to shoot yourself,” Cas snipped as he drew a weird circle-star thing on Dean’s hand with a sharpie.

“Cas.” _Don’t worry._

It was clear Cas was struggling with the situation, unused to having anyone with him, and feeling responsible should anything happen to Dean. He retraced the pentagram over and over until Dean grabbed the marker and threw it across the room.

“I’ve been fighting my way out of weird shit since I was in diapers. It’s gonna be ok, man.”

“Dean-” Cas’s voice was low and frustrated.

There was a strange moment where Dean’s hand was on Cas’s chest and Cas fisted the lapel of Dean’s suit jacket and they were both trying to see behind one another’s walls without lowering their own and maybe they were going to kiss and maybe they were going to fight and then Cas whispered, “Here we go.”

And the ground fell away.

\--

The situation was not going how Dean had imagined _at all._

“His highness’s little bitch,” Barclay spat.

“Fuck you, buddy,” Dean retorted.

“I wasn’t talking to _you_ , human.”

“Oh it’s a demon alright,” Cas whispered. _Don’t let him know who you really are._

 _I won’t._ “He’s an ugly motherfucker, isn’t he?” Dean muttered as he and Cas stood shoulder to shoulder keeping the monster wearing the agent in view.

“I forgot about your witch sight. You see his real face don’t you?”

Dean gagged. He could see the man’s face, Barclay or whoever, but quivering underneath was the true visage of the demon. It was rotting. One eyeball was gone and one was hanging out of the socket by a sinew, swinging in and out of a hole in it’s cheek. The lips were missing too, as if they’d been ripped away and behind the mangled teeth something blazed a sickly orange.

“Come to get rid of me, mage?” It smirked in what Dean was pretty sure was the most disgusting manipulation of flesh he’d ever seen. “You’ll have to think fast.”

It jumped forward at the same time the door slammed open and two more men charged in, thankfully both human.

“Who are these fuckers?” the taller one yelled, charging at Dean.

“Feds!” Demon Barclay screamed.

 _I need a distraction,_ Cas hollered into their minds.

 _On it_ , Dean thought.

“Hey you son of a bitch!” He dropped and rolled along the floor away from where Cas had pinned the agent to the wall, and in the background of their minds he could hear Cas begin the exorcism. It worked, and the two men from the cartel ran towards him.

_How long you need?_

_60 seconds._

Sixty seconds was actually an incredibly long amount of time to keep someone occupied without killing them. Knocking them out might be fun though.

The shorter one came at him first, and Dean easily dodged the heavy-handed blow and swung back around landing a hit somewhere near his nose. When the taller one lunged, he wasn’t quite as prepared and the guy caught him in the jaw. It rattled his teeth, but woke him the fuck up.

Grinning, he set his feet a little wider and jabbed his chin at them. “Come on, fuckers!”

All chaos broke loose. Cas was working quickly and Dean could see the demon struggling on the physical plane and in the magical realm. The spell was dragging the demon out, but it wasn’t going easy. Dean could see in between punches that the thing had it’s claws sunk into the vessel, and poor Barclay was screaming. Cas was doing what he could to protect him, but it was clearly draining him.

 _Need help,_ Cas gasped, and Dean smoothly withdrew the pistol from his waistband and clocked the shorter man on the back of the head. He hit the ground with a thud, and Dean crouched to make sure he was still breathing. Not that it would have been that much of a loss, but…

Suddenly he realized he hadn’t heard the taller guy in a several seconds, and he looked up to see him running across the open space toward where Cas was struggling to hold the demon in place and keep Barclay alive at the same time.

 _Oh no you don’t,_ Dean thought.

The target was moving. There were obstacles in the way. The distance was growing. 

Dean steadied his hand and squeezed.

Cas flinched and the man screamed, but he stayed down. “You shot me, you fucker!”

Dean shrugged, crossing cooly to where he lay. “Just the leg. You’ll be fine.” He clocked him hard enough to knock him unconscious and ran to Cas without stopping.

“We have to get it out,” Cas panted. “It’s killing him.”

Dean nodded. “What do you need?”

“Keep him alive. I’ll extract and destroy it from the outside.”

Immediately, Dean sent magic from his fingertips into the guys chest, lining his arteries and organs in protective magic, cooling his brain and sending him to sleep.

Hand extended, Cas twitched his fingers and pulled. The thing emerged howling from Barclay’s mouth like an infected splinter, slipping slowly first and then with a pop falling to the floor. It was even more putrid in spirit form, but Dean’s attention snapped back to the agent gasping on the ground.

 

“What happened?” he shuddered, scrambling away from Dean.

“Hey, easy man. It’s ok. You’re ok.”

A look of horrified recognition dawned on the man’s face. “I was...it...those girls...I killed those girls…” He began to cry.

“No,” Dean said sternly. “That wasn’t you. It was that thing.”

They both turned to see Cas and the demon circling one another. Cas was murmuring a different spell, and Dean could see the demon beginning to break apart, smoke oozing from the cracks in its body.

“Petty,” it gasped. “Maybe I’ll take something of yours before I go,” and it turned, claws outstretched to Dean. “Make him pretty like me!” it cackled.

Dean felt the wave of rage pulse through Cas, so strong that he stumbled a little.

_Close your eyes._

Dean pulled Barclay into the lapel of his coat. “Keep your eyes covered!”

He had to shout, because a sudden wind whistled through the quiet room. And then there was light.

He couldn’t help it. He turned to look.

Cas was glowing again, bright blue and full of absolute rage. “Fool,” he growled. “You think you can threaten him? I have defended his family for millennia. You are nothing!” The thing was suspended in the air now, held aloft by an invisible extension of Cas’s arm, and his coat whipped around him in the wind. “I was going to crush you like a bug.” His eyes blazed brightly, and even Dean was a little frightened of him. “But now, I’m going to rip you apart.”

Finding a moment of good sense, Dean shut his eyes and buried his face in his own shoulder. The smell of burning and an agonized scream smashed past them, and then it was silent.

Dean turned to see Cas standing very still, shoulders slumped.

“Cas? Cas!” He stood quickly and crossed to him. “You with me?”

Cas looked a little shell shocked and incredibly drained, but he gave Dean the sweetest, sleepiest smile. “I am now. Are you alright?”

Dean nodded but Cas brushed his knuckles over the bruise at his jaw. The beginnings of a healing spell cooled the space between them but Dean closed his hand over Cas’s. “Leave it.” He didn’t want him expending any more energy than was necessary.

Through the bond, Dean could sense how exhausted Cas was. Simply expelling the demon would’ve been easier on him, but it would’ve been easier on the demon, too. “You shouldn’t have used that much energy. I could’ve helped.”

Cas shrugged one shoulder. “It was my choice.”

“Stupid,” Dean muttered fondly.

“Hey, lovebirds? Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?”

Cas sighed tiredly, and Dean put a hand on his shoulder. “Here’s what we’ll do,” Dean said, making it up as he went. “I’m going to change these assholes’ memories just a touch. They’ll remember Cas and I fucking you guys up, but at the end, you’ll be the one who beat us to shit, ok? Then we just fuckin’ ran. That’s the story. Assuming you want to stay,” he finished.

Barclay nodded. “Fuck yes. I’ve got shit to do. Penance,” he added more softly.

Using a bit of enhanced strength, Dean dragged short guy next to shot guy, placed a hand on each, and carefully pressed the revised memory into their minds.

“Who’re you texting?” he asked Cas as he finished.

“Henriksen.” He pocketed his phone and said to Barclay, “Do you know what a pentagram is?”

“Uh...yes? That Wiccan star thing?”

Cas snorted. “It’s not Wic...never mind. Just...get a tattoo of that, and soon. Anywhere, any size. It protects.”

Barclay nodded. “Good to know. And...thank you.”

Dean pulled him to his feet and shook his hand. “Good luck.”

“And you.”

Before Dean even knew what was happening, the world dipped away, and a moment later they were standing in Cas’s bedroom.

Dean laughed.

“That’s a goddamn convenient power to have, Cas.”

He turned to see Cas grabbing him by the lapels then he was being kissed ferociously. Possessively.

“What was that for?” Dean asked breathlessly when he pulled away.

Cas looked surprisingly shy as he said, “I’m just...glad you came.”

\--

“Nice bruise you got there, brother. Hard day at work?” Benny asked as they all sat down for dinner.

Tonight, Charlie was sitting next to him in an inflatable purple throne and there wasn’t much room for Dean, so he’d settled on a barstool and poked her out of the way before he answered.

“Nah. Just clumsy.” He was getting slow in his old age.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice was tight and Dean couldn’t look at him. _None of that._

Clearing his throat, Dean tried again. “We...uh...got in a fight. One of the guys landed a hit. But we won, for sure.

“What happened?” Jo asked eagerly, and Dean tilted his head in a request to Cas, who granted him permission to tell the story with a nod.

The entire family listened, but with so many interruptions that it took half the meal to get the damn thing told. At the end of it, everyone broke off into random discussions: Sam and Charlie about the FBI, Ben and Jo about handguns, and Ellen and Bobby started arguing about having not gotten the Winchesters their pentagram tattoos yet.

Ignoring it all, Cas murmured to Dean, “We really do need to get those done, I can’t believe I spaced that. We have a guy that comes in to do them, I’ll get in touch with him. Start thinking about the design you want.”

Dean shrugged. “Won’t it just be the symbol?”

“Well yes, but you can add a personal touch to it if you like. Mine has those little runes on it, Ellen’s is a flower, Charlie’s is superimposed over the Jedi symbol.”

“No way,” Dean breathed, awed. “Well, cool. I’ll talk to Sam about it, he’s got a better artistic sense. But I like yours. The runes are awesome.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas smiled at him.

“Wait,” Charlie said. “How do you know what Cas’s tattoo looks like?”

Dean and Cas’s eyes snapped to look at each other.

“Oh my god,” she said. “You two slept together.”

“No!” They said at the same time. Dean amended, “Not exactly.”

“Actually, technically,” Cas interjected, “Sleeping is something we’ve done together.”

“Oh god,” Sam gagged.

“Told you!” Jo yelled at nobody in particular.

Dean braced himself for the reaction, nervously preparing for the worst. It was not what he expected.

Everyone was suddenly digging in their pockets and exchanging money. According to the grumbling and jeering, Ben and Ellen lost money, Charlie, Benny, and Sam each made a few dollars, and Bobby and Jo broke even.

“The betting pool was for how long it would take you two to get together,” Charlie finally explained when the table had settled back down.

“When, not if?” Cas mused.

“Oh, please, Cas. Like no was ever an option.”

Like no was ever an option.

Even the day they met Cas had handled the situation at the restaurant in a way that had Dean immediately placing trust in him. He’d taken care of Pam, he’d been good to Sam, he’d kept their secret...

But that didn’t explain the rightness Dean felt about him. About them. Didn’t explain why Cas’s body and mind fit so neatly around Dean’s. That was more about his shy smile, the flash in his eyes when Dean tried to talk shit about himself, the sadness that hung around his shoulders for hours on end. It was the way he yelled at the TV in different languages when Arsenal was losing and how he always frowned when he was reading. How he drew little sketches on every scrap of paper he could find, but hid them or threw them away immediately after. He knew things about Dean no one else could possibly know, and instead of using it as leverage he protected that trust. He was hundreds of years old, unimaginably powerful, and still made Dean feel like the most important thing in the world.

 _Cas Novak. You are something else._ Dean thought fondly.

 _Castiel,_ he thought back. Dean blinked questioningly. _My full name is Castiel._

They didn’t notice the rest of the table staring at them.

Dean absorbed the new detail gratefully. There were so many things Cas knew about him, and it was exhilarating to learn something in return.

 _Castiel._ Dean repeated. _Beautiful._

\--

“Whatcha reading?”

“Dandelion Wine.” The book was hypnotic and he blinked in surprise to see the sky had gone from cloudy blue to nearly black. “It’s so dark.”

Sam stared out the window. “Storm’s coming.”

Dean shook himself. “How was your lesson?”

Sam plopped down next to Dean on the couch in the library and grinned. “Awesome. Cas is a really good teacher.”

Dean nodded and felt a surge of pride. “Yeah, he is. What’d you learn?”

“Workin’ on glamour charms, make something look like something else to hide it.”

“How’d that go?”

“I’m definitely going to fuck with you, if that’s what you mean.”

Dean snorted. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

He did not remind Sam of his witch sight. “Bring it on.”

They smacked each other a few times, but a crack of thunder startled them both and they dissolved into laughter. Sam crossed his freakishly long legs, still giggling, and pulled a piece of paper from his bag.

“What’s that?”

“Ideas for anti-possession tattoos. Oh, by the way, Cas did the runes on my ribs. Hurt like a bitch.”

Dean felt a pulse of jealousy at the thought of Cas’s hands on anyone else, but let it go and instead reached for the paper. Pencil sketches littered the page. There were several that Dean liked, but there was one in particular that was drawn a little heavier, darker than the rest, indicating Sam’s preference.

“I like this one, too,” Dean murmured, pointing. “Why the flames?”

Sam shrugged and slid sideways along the couch until he was pressed warm against Dean’s side. “Well,” he answered slowly. “Part of it is the idea of reclaiming the fire that keeps messing with our lives. Taking back control of that element for our own purpose. And part of it,” he watched Dean from the corner of his eye, “Is for mom.”

“The sun,” Dean whispered.

After Mary died and time had passed and Dean could barely breathe for missing her, he would tell Sam stories of how she was when he was young. Sometimes he spoke about cooking with her, or about watching the stars, or how she’d always holler like a lunatic at his little league games. Mary was wild and warm and ethereal. She burned like the sun, John used to say.

Sam nodded jerkily. “Was thinkin’ we could get the same one. A brother thing. If that’s ok with you, of course,” he finished quickly.

Dean yanked his arm from where it was pinned between them and hugged Sam fiercely. “Of course it’s ok, idiot.” They pulled back, blinking. “It’s good, Sam.”

They bullshitted a while longer, but Dean eventually excused himself to search for Cas. The sadness that usually hung in the stratosphere of their shared consciousness had been heavier, more persistent today, and Dean was a little worried. Cas kept many things private but they’d been bonded for long enough that Dean could sense some things that were meant to be hidden. He’d feel guilty about that, except for the fact that he was sure Cas could see some of his secrets, too.

He felt around for the buzzing that betrayed Cas’s presence even when he was trying to hide. It was further away than he was used to but not absent and he followed it the faint trace, getting lost a few times before he found the ladder to the roof; Iron bars at the end of a short hallway practically hidden from view led up to a square door. Dean shoved it open with his shoulders and hauled his body out onto the stone tiling.

The rain was falling in sheets and he was soaked to the bone within seconds. Thunder clapped in time with the lightning meaning the storm was close, and Dean looked around frantically for Cas who was standing, dripping wet, at the far edge of the roof, staring out into the distance and moving his arms jerkily.

Dean was about to shout a warning, when he realized what was going on. Cas was in shirtsleeves hurling handfuls of lightning into the air with silent fury and watching them crack the sky open. Muscles in his back and shoulders stood out in cords through the soaked-to-transparency dress shirt, and his hands were dripping blood into a pinkish-orange puddle at his feet.

“ _Cas!_ ” Dean shouted into the rain and into their minds. He was sure Cas heard him and he was sure Cas was ignoring him. Wanting to muscle out of a bad headspace was a familiar exercise for Dean and he stepped back, willing to let Cas have his moment. The air smelled almost metallic, and something about it made Dean nervous, but Cas was breathtaking. Terrifying, yes, but breathtaking.

He would have watched for hours, but after a particularly violent throw the blood started really pouring from Cas’s hands, and Dean couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Come on man! You’re bleeding! Let it go!” He hollered himself hoarse and still Cas didn’t turn around.

 _Cas!_ he screamed into their mind. No response.

 _Stubborn ass_ , he muttered as he extended his hand and wrapped his magic around Cas’s waist, jerking him away from the edge of the roof. Cas stumbled and turned, and Dean froze at the sight of him. Wrath that looked a hairsbreadth from anguish hung ragged on his face and his eyes blazed white-blue.

“Leave me alone, Dean!” he roared through the rain.

“Not a chance asshole! Let’s go!” He was about to tug again, try and get him closer to the door, when Cas’s magic pushed back.

Being on the receiving end of Cas’s magic was much different than being in the presence of it. It tore through him, buzzing and burning, but not quite unpleasant. They stood facing eachother now, Dean trying to pull him closer as Cas’s magic pushed them apart. Time seemed suspended as they stood almost motionless, straining against each other. Rain soaked through them, and Dean could barely see, but leaving wasn’t an option, so he planted his feet more firmly and gave more energy to the strand of magic pulling Cas to him.

Cas, on the other hand, was twitchy, manic, and Dean started to gain the upper hand. With desperation fueled by worry, Dean finally got him within arm’s reach, and Cas chose that moment to let go of his magic and as Dean stumbled, punch him instead.

Reeling back, Dean spat blood onto the tile and immediately lunged at Cas. He caught him by his shoulders, slick with rain, and Cas struggled, shoving him.

“Leave me!” he bellowed.

“NO!” Dean shouted back.

“I’m dangerous!”

“Don’t care! Cas, come on-”

Dean pressed at the wall between their minds, frantically prying to see what was wrong, attempting to press some comfort through, but Cas’s magic was strong and didn’t budge until one of them tripped and they tumbled to the stone. The shield slipped, not a lot, not enough for memories, but the emotions came rushing out: guilt and sadness and so much pain… The pain of having outlived everyone he’d ever loved. The pain of knowing more than anyone should. The pain of watching over the world. The pain of the absolute certainty that Dean would leave him.

Leave him? Never.

Dean’s own surprise at his self-discovery allowed Cas to gain enough control to roll them so that he was on top, and he hauled back to try and hit Dean again, yelling something like, “Get out!” and Dean sat up and grabbed him by the neck, kissing him as hard as he could.

They were still wrestling with each other, but now it was Cas fisting Dean’s hair and Dean’s hands grasping at Cas’s hips, trying to pull him closer. All the aggression Cas had channeled into the storm and then into their argument now went into kissing Dean.

“I’m not leaving!” Dean yelled into the howling wind. He focused on Cas’s bedroom and folded the space between them and it so that they were suddenly kneeling on the carpet next to his bed, dripping, ears ringing with the quiet. “I’m not leaving, Cas,” he panted again. “I know you’ve lost people, I know I can’t even imagine how many or how painful and I-” he cut himself off, grimacing at the wet fabric on his skin and the discomfort of the words he was trying to say.

“I’m sorry,” Cas whispered. “I’m sorry, I just…” He pressed his lips to Dean’s temple, his eyelids, his forehead, and Dean could feel the frenzy of thoughts in the next level of Cas’s mind, just below his emotions. “I’m so tired, Dean.”

Painfully enough, that was a sentiment Dean knew well. The feeling of carrying too much for too long, of loving fiercely and knowing love guarantees you nothing. He pressed that understanding into Cas’s mind and Cas nodded, lips brushing his cheek.

“Yes, exactly,” he breathed and pulled back to look at Dean. “I’m so tired of remembering.”

Dean didn’t look away. “Then let’s forget a little while.”

Achingly slowly, Dean unbuttoned the soaking dress shirt and tugged it down Cas’s arms, stopping at his wrists and using it to hold him still, taking long minutes to kiss and bite down the lines of his arms, across his collarbone, up his neck. Cas whimpered and gasped but didn’t move. Dean finally released him, unbuttoning the cuffs without stopping the path of his mouth down Cas’s chest, licking a latticework across his ribs and rolling his nipples between his teeth. Cas arched into him with a moan, and the second his hands were free, he dragged Dean’s shirt over his head and hurled it across the room.

Before Dean would allow him to stand, he brushed delicate fingertips over the palms of Cas’s hands, watching the cuts close, a mirror of the day they met.

They stood on shaky legs to finish undressing each other, taking their time, holding power quiet and taut along their muscles, trembling but refusing to be rushed. Cas’s hands brushed reverently over Dean’s cheeks and lips every few moments and the intimacy of it was almost too much to bear.

When they were finally stripped, Cas pushed Dean back onto the bed, kissing apologies into his skin. “So beautiful,” he murmured, and Dean turned his head away, overwhelmed. “You don’t believe me,” he frowned.

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Cas wasn’t exactly wrong.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice was stern, and he took Dean’s face in his hands. “You are _everything._ ” His voice broke strangely. “You saved me.”

“I think you’ve got that backwards, dude,” Dean snorted, running his hands down Cas’s back. “You saved my ass more than a few times.”

Cas shook his head and sat back on his heels. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” Dean muttered, pushing up onto his elbows. “Cas, I believe that I’m the great great a million greats grandson of some dead king, but other than than, man, I’m normal. Fuck, I’m less than normal.” He sat up so that they were eye to eye. Why he needed to say this was unclear, but he felt the weight of it suddenly, to make sure Cas understood before they took this any further. “I didn’t graduate from high school, Cas. All I know how to do is hide and fix cars and take care of my brother. And I can’t even do that right. You...you’d be better off with someone else, man, and I’m shocked you don’t know that.”

Cas’s mouth was hanging open and Dean looked away, unsurprised but saddened by Cas’s expression which he read as the precursor to agreement.

“Idiot,” Cas snarled, and grabbed his face and Dean felt Cas’s consciousness crash into his own so completely that he couldn’t see, head spinning as they merged. Thoughts swirled behind his eyelids and finally settled into clear images as he found himself standing in a series of memories.

Cas in knight’s garb standing alone in a stone room looking older than he did now; Cas in strange baggy pants and an open-necked shirt riding a horse frantically across a foggy field; Cas in a suit sitting exhausted at a desk; Cas in jeans standing on a beach, staring out over the water… The images were obviously spread over space and time, but each one reeked of loneliness. He looked different, tired, shoulders stooped with the weight of it.

 _Jesus, Cas, I’m sorry,_ Dean thought softly, but Cas’s conscious shook off the comment and continued with the mental slideshow. This vision was more recent. Dean recognized the trenchcoat and tie he wore, and realized they were outside the restaurant.

_When was this?_

Cas ignored him, so Dean followed him in, watching as he sat down at the bar and began talking to Pam. They bullshitted for a while, then started discussing the busy season when Dean saw himself burst out of the kitchen looking anxious. And vibrant.

He looked stronger, brighter somehow. “Pam! Are you ok?”

 _Why do I look like that?_ he murmured in the dream.

_That’s how you look, Dean._

The images shifted again, to the night Cas came over for dinner. They were sitting at the kitchen table in the old apartment, he and Cas and Sam, and Sam was eagerly discussing a poem with Cas, and Dean was watching them fondly, and he realized that the suffocating despair that had permeated the rest of the visions was gone. Cas’s shoulders were relaxed.

He watched as the image became fuzzy and turned into him listening to Sam tell a story as they stood in front of the bar. Sam was so enthused, and Dean watched himself clap his brother on the arm and Sam glowed.

Again a shift, and he was walking around the corner by their apartment, dropping a dollar into the homeless guy’s cup. His name was Chuck, he was always there, and he was nice enough. Dean felt kind of bad for him, always stopped to say high.

Then it was he and Cas, shoulder to shoulder, eating breakfast at the island counter in the kitchen. Dean suddenly understood that Cas was always up at the asscrack of dawn for him, to spend time with him before work and family and chores got in the way. Cas was laughing at something Dean had said, and Dean was looking pleased and shy, and the memory reeked of such happiness from both of them that it took his breath away.

_Do you see? Do you understand?”_

Dean nodded. _Enough._ He understood enough. Enough with the feelings. Enough with the memories...it was too much. Cas withdrew from Dean’s mind and his hands from Dean’s face, looking anxious.

Dean gently pushed Cas out of his lap and against the headboard, grimacing at the cool air that replaced warm body, and stood. He heard a sigh from behind him but ignored it and the resignation Cas was trying to hide, and instead fumbled around in the bedside drawer for the lube, casually throwing it on the bed. The resignation receded, but wariness remained as Dean climbed back on the bed and onto Cas.

Forcing himself to breathe, he looked Cas in the eye as leaned forward to kiss him, watched his eyelids flutter shut, watched him relax again. With one hand running through Cas’s hair, he lubed up the fingers of the other hand and leaned forward. Cas stiffened and gasped, cock twitching, when he realized what Dean was doing.

Dean winced a little as he slipped the first fingertip inside himself, but then sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, working himself open. Little waves of lust from Cas lapped at his raised shields, but Dean kept his up, fearful that he’d be overwhelmed if they were lower.

There was the sound of a cap and then slick slide and Dean opened his eyes. The sight of Cas slowly fisting his cock was sexy as hell, but the look in his eyes was even better. Cheeks flushed, lip caught in his teeth, he watched Dean move like it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

“It is,” Cas grinned.

“Huh?” Dean muttered, breathless.

“The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up.”

Cas obeyed, smirking, but when a soft whimper escaped Dean his eyes darkened again.

The second finger burned but Dean wasn’t planning on slowing down, the thought blazing in his mind that if he couldn’t tell Cas how he felt, at least he could show him.

And Cas...Cas lay beneath him looking exquisite. The suits he wore looked so sharp because his body underneath was all sinew. His skin flushed rosy, and the light threw shadows above his collarbone, beside his hipbones. He was breathing roughly now, but so was Dean, and the ragged sound filled the room like a personified drum beat.

When Cas reached out, his cock slapped against his stomach wetly, and Dean groaned at the thought that Cas was that hard because of him. “Like something you see?” Cas murmured cheekily as his fingers began to tease the head of Dean’s cock.

“All of it,” Dean panted, and Cas’s mind pulsed, pleased, then began to shimmer as Dean kissed him, biting at his lips and sliding a third finger inside himself.

“Already?” Cas breathed as Dean leaned forward to position them so he could easily sink down onto Cas’s cock. “I think you underestimate me.” A moment later he understood, when Dean cracked his shields, showed how he craved the ache, the fullness. “You like a little pain,” Cas observed, voice faint, and Dean nodded as he pulled the wall back into place. He half expected Cas to be weirded out, but instead his hands scrambled for Dean’s hips he sank down, digging his thumbs in. “So perfect. Fuck, Dean, you’re so perfect.”

By the time he bottomed out, they were both trembling with the effort of moving slowly and keeping their mental walls up. Cas held perfectly still until Dean rocked experimentally, and then everything changed.

Effortlessly, Cas rolled them so he was on top, hiked Dean’s legs up, and drove into him.

“Oh, shit Cas,” Dean gasped. “I won’t last like this.”

“Thank god,” Cas panted.

Dean was glad he’d gotten so good at keeping his walls up, because there was no way he could concentrate on that while Cas’s gorgeous body curled over him, hips snapping mercilessly. He was strung tight, every muscle flexed, and when Dean raked his nails down Cas’s back he shouted.

Dean worked his legs down to the bed and rolled his hips, fucking up into Cas, and Cas’s eyes gleamed darkly. “You’re going to come untouched, understand?”

Dean nodded desperately, and the whimper that escaped him had Cas leaning down biting a mark into his neck.

They tore at each other, but then, an instant before it became too overwhelming, Cas leaned down and wrapped his arms under Dean’s, pulling him close. The change of angle was amazing, but the feeling of being cradled, with Cas’s bright eyes blazing so close to his...it was too much.

There was so much affection in his face, in the lines by his eyes, in the curve of his mouth. It was a startling contrast to see such softness on him after the sharpness of pain so few minutes ago. It they kept this up much longer, Dean wouldn’t be able to keep his shields up. Wouldn’t want to.

Dean scrambled out from beneath Cas, feeling briefly too empty, but he rolled to his hands and knees and pressed his ass back into Cas’s hips. “Please,” he whispered. “Please.”

He chanced a look behind him, and something had dimmed in Cas’s eyes but he complied, grabbing Dean hard enough to leave marks and drove into him again.

Dean cried out. Every thrust sent shocks through his body, hauling him far too quickly towards release. Cas’s body arched over his to drive into him, and the warmth of his chest pressed to Dean’s back was incredible. Cas wrapped his hand into Dean’s hair, holding his head up and Dean heard every little whimper and groan from Cas’s lips.

Dean dropped his weight down onto his forearms and pressed back into Cas. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, oh shit Cas, don’t stop.” He clenched down hard, trying to take Cas deeper in, and it punched a growl from Cas that reverberated through them both.

“Fuck Dean. So good for me. I-” his hips started to lose rhythm and Dean let himself go, crashing into his orgasm and pulling Cas fast over the edge behind him. Cas let out a choked wail and when he rolled off, Dean hauled Cas into his arms, unable to stop himself.

He ran a soothing hand through Cas’s hair, pressed soft kisses into his forehead. It was a mistake, it was showing too much too soon, but...

Cas was burrowing into him like a cat, rubbing his cheek into Dean’s chest, so his voice was muffled as he said, “I like you.”

Dean grinned. “I like you too.”

“Sorry I’m a mess,” he murmured.

“Uh, ditto,” Dean scoffed, then, “I say unto you,” he said softly, fingers lifting Cas’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star. I say unto you: you still have chaos in yourselves.’ Your chaos isn’t always a bad thing, Cas.”

“Nor yours,” Cas countered, cheeky but so sincere.

They pulled back to look at each other, both trying to decide whether they wanted to tackle the emotional shitstorm they’d waded through over the past hour. Both decided against it, and Cas readjusted himself so he was lying in the crook of Dean’s arm and extended his hand, letting go a tiny firework no more than three inches in diameter, little drips of green and gold into the dim light of the room.

Dean chuckled. “Really? Fireworks? Kind of cliche, don’t you think?” He brushed Cas’s palm with his fingertips, cool magic soothing the healed over wounds from the lightning, before extending his own hand and tossing a little white and blue firework of his own towards the ceiling.

Another one jumped from Cas’s hand, all gold, bending down like a willow.

“Oooh, I like those,” Dean murmured. He let go a small purple ball that expanded in a ring like a tiny bomb.

“Lovely,” Cas murmured.

They spent a few more minutes on the fireworks before Dean was nodding off. He briefly thought about going back to his own room, but Cas broke the mutually imposed mental blockade they’d put up to whisper, _Please don’t go._

So Dean stayed.

\--

“You look happy,” Charlie said as they walked out into the sunshine. He and Sam had just gotten their anti-possession tattoos, and Dean was excited to show Cas how it had turned out.

“Yeah, it’s a nice day out.”

“I mean existentially happy, Dean.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets with a shrug, but considered what she’d said.

For the first time in over a decade, he didn’t worry every day. Sammy had friends, a safe place to stay, and an endless stream of food that they didn’t have to pay for. Despite not having a job, Dean was never bored. He was sleeping and running and working magic and reading and watching old movies with Charlie and helping Benny and Bobby around the house and helping Ellen in the kitchen and helping Cas with work.

And Cas. Cas made him truly happy. 

That wasn’t something he could say aloud though, so he settled on “I guess.”

The grin on his face gave him away, but Charlie didn’t mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "I say unto you" quote is Nietzsche, albeit taken pretty out of context :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, sweet, porn and fluff.

“Don’t you dare, Winchester,” Ellen said, rapping Dean’s knuckles with a spoon. He’d snuck a french fry before she turned back around, but Ellen had a sixth sense about those things.

“Ow,” he muttered. Ellen rolled her eyes.

It was Jo’s birthday, and Dean and Ellen were on dinner duty. The day had been wonderful, and Dean’s only complaint was that Cas was out on a job. Everyone else had spent the day goofing around the house, setting up tables and chairs outside, wrapping presents, and harassing Jo. She huffed and puffed but Dean could tell she loved it. By the time he and Ellen had finished magicking dinner out to the table in the yard, his knuckles were purple from Ellen’s spoon but he was pleased with the results of their work.

A quick check of the time told him he had twenty minutes to get ready for dinner, and he ran up the stairs two at a time and threw himself in the shower. Ten minutes later he was standing in front of his closet with a towel around his waist, completely indecisive as to what he should wear. Slacks and a button up? Jeans and a tee? Henley? He wanted to look nice (mostly for Cas), but he didn’t want to be overdressed either.

As if on command, the whir of magic that indicated Cas’s presence grew stronger behind him, and he smiled as he felt Cas’s mind reach out to touch his own.

Dean didn’t turn around, but instead stood up a little straighter, asking, “How was work?”

Cas’s hands brushed the breadth of Dean’s shoulders as he said, “It went well. How was your day?” Dean struggled to speak as Cas ran the backs of his fingers down his bare back.

“G-good. Missed you.”

“Did you now?” Cas murmured in his ear. His hands slid around to cup Dean’s hipbones and Dean shivered. “I heard you thinking about me a time or two. Not a good idea while cooking. We should work on your focus.” As he spoke, he slipped the towel from Dean’s hips and let it fall to the floor with a quiet flump. Dean groaned. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Cas,” he breathed. “Dinner’s in ten minutes.”

Cas hummed, lips tickling Dean’s ear. “Well then we’d better get to it.”

Dean found himself pressed to the wall by his hips, and Cas on his knees in front of him.

“Jesus Christ, Castiel,” Dean groaned as Cas swallowed him down.

_I like when you say my name,_ Cas thought.

“Castiel,” Dean whispered, and was rewarded by Cas taking him all the way in, nose brushing against Dean’s stomach. “Fuck.”

Cas was clearly determined to make Dean come and still be on time for dinner. He bobbed and licked and sucked with enthusiasm, spit dribbling down his chin and Dean thought he’d never seen anything sexier in his life. That was until Cas commanded, _Look at me,_ and Dean snapped his head down to see Cas blinking up at him from under dark lashes, pink lips stretched around him, and Dean’s hands fluttered around his own hips, trying desperately not to come right then. _Don’t you dare look away._

Dean nodded and swallowed, palms pressing a path down his thighs repeatedly and Cas brushed over them on his way up to press two fingers into Dean’s mouth, fucking himself in a few times before dropping the spit slick digits down between Dean’s legs, trailing behind his balls then drifting further back. When Dean felt the soft pad of a slender finger brush at his hole, his hips jerked forward, hard, and he immediately recoiled, afraid he’d choke Cas, but the other man followed him back, moaning around his cock. “Fuck Cas, oh fuck.”

_Eyes on me, Dean._

It was harder than he would’ve thought. Cas’s apparent lack of gag reflex was distracting enough without watching every second of it, and when Cas slid the tip of a finger inside him, his initial reaction was to scrunch his eyes closed and slam his head back, but instead he breathed and sunk down a little further, legs quivering from the strain of holding up his body and holding back his orgasm.

_So good for me._

Even Cas’s thoughts sounded breathless and awed, and Dean felt himself blush under his gaze.

_So gorgeous, Dean. So fucking perfect._

The mantra of praise, and the heat of Cas’s mouth, and most importantly the affection in their shared headspace had Dean writhing against the wall.

_Cas. Cas, I’m gonna -_

_Come for me._

He tried to follow the instructions even as he came so hard his vision blurred, and kept his eyes on Cas as he swallowed around Dean a few time then slowly pulled off, smiling remarkably shyly for someone who just sucked him off like a pornstar.

“Holy shit, Cas,” Dean panted. He reached for him to return the favor, but Cas shook his head.

“Later. I want you to think about how much you want me for at least a full meal. And I want to spend some time thinking about that mouth of yours.” His voice was fucked out and so sexy Dean’s dick briefly entertained the idea of getting hard again.

“Black jeans, green henley,” Cas said, nodding to the closet, and then sat on the bed in silence watching Dean dressed himself in a wonderfully intimate sort of reverse strip tease. Dean loved the feeling of Cas’s eyes on him, the feeling of being worshiped even from across the room, and he performed into it a little, arching his back as he slid his shirt on, taking his time tugging his jeans over his ass.

By the time they met at the bedroom door, Cas’s eyes were twinkling appreciatively and he was smiling, lips still red from earlier. Dean’s heart swelled at the sight of him and caught his hand before he opened the door. Cupping Cas’s face in his palms Dean pressed a kiss to his forehead, his temple, then his lips.

“Glad you’re home,” he mumbled.

Cas’s eyes glowed, and he laughed. “You’re just saying that because you got a blowjob out of it.”

“No,” Dean answered, for once completely serious. “I’m not.”

Cas’s face changed, suddenly younger, hopeful and frightened and fond. “Oh.”

Dean gave a small smile, shy but genuine, and led him downstairs.

 

The birthday was an epic success. Dean made burgers and a giant cake, and Ellen whipped up some pretty fantastic coleslaw, fries, baked beans, and greens. Sam and Charlie hung paper lanterns over the table and the lightning bugs that ruled the back yard seemed to take them as an invitation to join the party.

Everyone’s gifts were very “Jo” (knives, spell books, gift cards, a pistol from Bobby). Benny found an ancient cd player and everyone under the age of forty dug through their crap to find the handful of cds they still had, so the music ended up being a bizarre mix of 90’s pop, jazz, and classic rock.

Everyone got a little bit drunk, and eventually the dinner settled into dancing and lounging. Bobby and Benny and Ellen sat together drinking whiskey and talking about some politician they didn’t think much of. Ben and Sam were playing a particularly vicious card game that Dean was pretty sure was going to end badly. Jo and Charlie were dancing sweetly to Zeppelin's Rain Song, but Jo grabbed him as he came back from taking out the trash and gave him a rough hug.

“Thanks for the knife, Deano. And the cake.”

Dean lifted her off the ground a little and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “Of course, Joanna Banana. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

Jo must’ve been more than a little drunk because she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek saying, “I’m glad you’re here. Glad you’re happy. Glad you make Cas happy.”

He laughed, uncomfortable but pleased. “Me too, Jo. Me too.”

Charlie tugged her away after that, and Dean flopped down next to Cas on a wicker bench, heaving a sigh. Cas was looking at him so fondly that Dean sat up a little and sweetly snarked, “What?”

The older man shrugged. “You’re good with Jo. She doesn’t like many people, but she likes you.”

Dean grinned. “What can I say? I’m pretty charming.”

That earned an eyeroll from Cas, but good humor rolled between their minds, so it was hard to be too offended. Too full to stay upright, Dean slid down until his head was in Cas’s lap, and he pulled up a ball of light into his palm to occupy his hands.

“When’s your birthday?” Cas asked suddenly.

“January 24th. How ‘bout you?”

“I don’t know,” he said, speaking slowly as if surprised he’d been asked.

Dean sat up. “Sorry, what?”

Cas looked nonplussed. “My home life wasn’t exactly stable. No one recorded my birth date, and that was quite a while ago. I just don’t remember.” There was vague discomfort emanating from him and Dean struggled with whether or not to change the subject. He was the champion of not talking about things, but he was also curious, not only about the birthday issue but also about Cas’s childhood.

Finally he slid back down, pulled out the light again, and said, “If you ever want to talk about it...or want a present,” Dean waggled his eyebrows roguishly and Cas snorted, “I’d like to hear about it, ok?”

“Ok,” Cas said softly, clearly moved, and began running his fingers through Dean’s hair, nails scratching gently at his scalp. The light above Dean’s hand turned from white to gold and began dancing, tiny tendrils poking out like a sun. Intrigued, Dean watched it. He wasn’t manipulating it; it seemed his magic was responding to Cas.

“Cool,” he muttered, before tossing it and watching it explode, a tiny firework. Cas responded in kind, producing the shimmering gold one Dean had liked so much before.

“Hey,” Dean said, sitting up and grinning. “We should make some real ones for Jo.”

It seemed that Cas liked the idea because he stood eagerly, grabbing his beer in one hand and Dean’s arm in the other, and dragged him out into the empty field. “We should give ourselves some space...just in case,” he explained.

Dean laughed. “Yeah, maybe not the best idea to light the party on fire.”

They were both feeling warm from alcohol and endorphins, and their discussion about size and color and spellwork for the explosions was so lively it ended in a good natured shoving match that was put on hold when Dean hurled a magnificient purple and white firework into the sky.Taking a lesson from the lightning incident, they coated their hands in protective magic. It still burned a little, but no one was bleeding, so they counted it a win.

The family, who’d been watching them with cautious amusement, jumped in surprise and cheered.

Charlie screamed with joy when Dean tossed up a green Jedi symbol and Ellen loved the bursts of flowers Cas threw, but soon the spectacle became watching two beautiful men in a field, laughing and shoving each other and throwing light into the air.


	10. Chapter 10

In retrospect, the worst part was that Dean had only just begun to settle down. When Cas told him he was gorgeous he still blushed and looked away but was starting to believe it a little. He was starting to feel like himself for the first time in over a decade.

Sleep had overtaken him quickly that night. He’d been out with Benny all day trying to spell away a nasty drought that had been plaguing the area, then spent the evening in the garden with Cas, pulling weeds and throwing them at his boyfriend. By the time he was curled up in bed tucked under Cas’s chin, he was so bone weary it didn’t even occur to him to be worried about dreams.

Some nightmares ease in, sneak up on you, and some overtake you the moment you slip under as if lying in wait. This one swallowed him whole.

The voice curled out of the darkness like a tendril of smoke. “Aren’t you looking happy these days?”

Dean knew him immediately. “What do you want?”

The demon finally appeared, but this time it didn’t look like a rotting piece of meat. It looked like a man. He was gaunt in this form, too, but distictly human, tall and gangly with dirty blonde hair and strange eyes.

“I want to tell you a story.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Oh dear,” the thing whined. “But it appears you are a captive audience.”

Dean looked around to find himself chained to a chair in the center of a room made of cement and rusted iron, with a giant fan whirring slowly above him.

“This is my fucking dream! Where are we?” The place was real, though no where Dean had ever been, and it must’ve come from the demon’s mind instead of his.

The thing straddled a chair facing him and smiled. “Panic room.”

“Creep,” Dean spat.

It nodded in agreement and spoke. “Once upon a time, there was a king. He was a warrior and his people loved him. He had many knights that fought in his name, a mage that advised him, and a beautiful queen who ruled by his side.”

“Boring.” The chains clanked as Dean struggled, but the creature ignored him.

“He was not the man his people thought he was. He was proud and cruel, and his wife grew tired of him. She looked for a stronger man, a better one, and she found him. A knight in her husband’s court.”

In spite of himself, Dean was intrigued. He knew the lore surrounding Arthur pretty well from reading to Sam all those years ago, and the Guinevere/Lancelot story was interesting in all its iterations.

“When the king found himself without a wife, he was furious. It would not do to be the king without a beautiful woman at his side. So he found a new one. My fiance and the mother of my boys.” The man’s voice was soft now, lost in his own vision. “We had a life together. Can you imagine, your highness? She was gold. She was light. I loved her more than anything, and she returned my affections. Do you have any idea how rare that is?”

“Yeah. Yeah I do,” he murmured slowly.

It snapped out of it’s haze then, blinking slowly up at Dean. “Arthur cost me everything.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, surprising himself with his sincerity. “What happened?”

“She would not go. We fought him, but he sent soldiers to our home. They killed us all.”

The only noise for long minutes was the giant fan creaking overhead.

“Then how are you here?” Dean finally asked.

The man spat next to the chair and answered. “A witch came to me, made me a deal. My life in exchange for the souls of the first born descendants of the king. Thousands of years of revenge on you and your abhorrent family, with your pitiful mage running around trying to pick up the pieces. He succeeded for the most part, I admit. Wasn’t much help for your dear old mum, though, I have to say.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean snarled.

“Your boy, Castiel. He’s your family’s protector. Keeps me off your lot until you’re old enough to die naturally. I suspect if he knew I was taking your souls and not just the lives he’d be a little more militant. Anyway, he must be slipping. He let me take your mother so early, grandmother and great grandfather too. Oh well. He’s getting on in years. Maybe he was just too weak to keep me away. Or maybe he just got tired of protecting you pathetic people.”

It seemed strange not to be able to breathe in a dream, but he fought for breath anyway. The creature, sensing his anguish, prodded the wound further.

“If he’d just done his job your dear mother would most likely be alive. Can you imagine? No life on the road, no alcoholic father. And to have your mother again…”

“Shut up!” Dean roared, surging forward only to be reminded of the chains around him.

The thing ignored him. “Mary was so sweet, too, wasn’t she? Feisty certainly, and charming. It was almost a shame to take her. Almost.”

“You killed her, you fucker! Cas would have - ”

“You’re not the least bit suspicious about that guilty conscience he carries around? You feel it, don’t you, pressing at your mind? Don’t you ever wonder what he’s so guilty about? It is in poor taste to fuck a man whose mother he let die. Even _he_ knows that ”

Dean shook his head violently. “No! No! He would...I...he should’ve…” He was blinking back tears furiously but it didn’t matter because the dream was fading around him, disintegrating into the bedroom, and Cas shaking him.

Cas was watching him with a terrible expression on his face. His eyes were huge and too bright but there were dark circles beneath them. He was gnawing his lip.

He’d seen the dream.

“Was it true?” Dean said finally. “Were you supposed to protect my family?”

Cas nodded slowly.

“Is that why you...why we... and my mom…” The problems piled up and as Cas reached for him he scrambled away in horror. Cas winced as if struck. “You knew. You knew who I was, who she was, that you failed her, and you lied from the very beginning. You lied about everything.”

“No! I didn’t! I didn’t know, at first, and I’ve never spoken a false word to you, Dean.”

“What about the things you didn’t say?”

Cas’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and Dean just...couldn’t. He heard Cas cry out to him, begging him to wait, to let him explain, but he had already folded the space between their rooms and let the end go, dropping himself into his own bed with a bounce.

He drew his walls as high as they would go, curled into a ball, and wept.

\--

The next week was hell.

Dean didn’t know if Cas still ate early breakfast in the kitchen because he simply stopped eating breakfast. He’d lay in bed until he couldn’t stand it, then get up and run until he couldn’t move. He tried to keep up appearances, laughing with Ellen, joking with Charlie and Benny, messing with Ben, but he was sure they could tell something was off.

Cas left for a job at the beginning of the week and hadn’t returned. Dean wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned about it, so he ignored the feeling instead.

He chewed over the problems until they were worn through and he was left feeling confused and angry and miserable.

What if Cas had only stayed in their lives because of his responsibility to Arthur’s bloodline? What if the only reason he wanted to keep them close was because it was his job?

And what about Mary? Dean couldn’t bring himself to ask but he knew the demon had been telling the truth. It had been Cas’s job to protect their family and he’d been doing that for a few centuries. But somehow Mary had been taken before her time?

It wasn’t fair. It felt like a confirmation of the cautious realism he’d lived his life with up until now. Nothing good lasts. No one stays. And the second he’d forgotten, it came back to bite him in the ass.

“You wanna talk about it?” Sam asked.

Dean had ended up in his brother’s room a lot. Sam didn’t press him on it, understood that he needed the familiarity, the comfort, and just let him read or sleep or watch TV, flopped at the foot of the bed .

He shook his head, dislodging a pillow, which he grumpily tucked back under him before responding, “No.”

Sam sighed. “Well, you’re going to have to talk some time. You look like shit, and we live with the guy for Christ sake.”

Dean sat up abruptly. “We should move out.”

Sam was watching him, partly annoyed, partly fearful, like Dean was a wild animal he didn’t want to spook. “I’d rather not,” he said in a tone clearly intended to pacify. “And I think you need to give it some time. Talk to Cas.”

“No.”

“Is that your new favorite word?” Sam prodded, annoyed.

“No.”

“Jesus Christ.”

They both snorted a laugh but fell silent again far too quickly to pretend things were back to normal.

\--

It was late and he was sneaking down to make a sandwich when he heard voices in the kitchen.

“Why don’t you try explaining it to me, Cas?” Sam was saying, voice angry but controlled.

“It’s my job to protect your family, Sam. I was tasked with your protection by Arthur himself. But your great great grandfather thought I was part of the problem, hid his first born son from me, sent him away to another family, I never knew he existed. The demon killed the wrong person, the second man instead of the first, he didn’t have any children... we both thought the bloodline was finished.

“The demon must’ve figured it out, but I...I didn’t know. I retired, so to speak. I found this job, this house, started helping people…” Dean heard and felt the sigh, like Cas’s mind was leaning toward him unconsciously. “Until I saw Dean, I thought there was no one left to protect ...but when I saw him, Sam...he was stunning, blinding...his magic is...incredible…”

“Yeah, yeah, easy there, I don’t need details.” Sam paused. “So you didn’t know about our mom? There was no way you could’ve protected her.”

“No,” Cas protested. “But I should’ve remained vigilant, I should’ve - ”

“Cas,” Sam interrupted. “You didn’t know.”

“She died because of me, Sam. I should’ve been there.”

“Yeah, well, by that logic, I killed our Dad, so…”

“What?” Cas’s voice was sharp and Dean held his breath.

“Dean always told me not to use magic, but I would pester him about it. I liked watching him, but after mom died he wouldn’t work any magic for me anymore. I convinced him to hang out with me sometimes while I tried casting spells, in case anything went wrong. The magic lured the demon right to us, and our dad died protecting us. One of the only fatherly things he ever did.” Dean heard a shuffle. “I spent years feeling guilty about it. Still do sometimes. But that ...that _thing_ is evil. _It_ tore our life apart. Not me. Not you.”

Dean sniffed and wiped his hands down his face as he backed up slowly and crept back up to his room.

\--

The only time Dean left his room the next day was to find a new book. The mansion was silent on the way down to the library; good because that meant everyone was asleep, bad because every noise seemed amplified.

Since he’d started practicing magic more frequently, his body would get antsy if he went too long without doing some sort of spell. As he wandered in front of an interesting row of books he indulged that feeling by conjuring a small ball of fire in his hand and as he walked, switched it to water. He grinned as the water splashed back into flame above his palm. It took a specific focus to maintain the fire, but it wasn’t draining. Keeping the water suspended took a little more effort.

Ignoring the books he took a moment to work on the transition, still unsure of the exact trigger. He focused on seeing the magic, fire waiting to burst into life or water waiting to surge forward. It took a bit of energy to practice the switch, but soon it was easy, and he conjured more water to his palm.

“That’s quite impressive.”

The water hit the floor with a splash and he stepped back sharply.

“Castiel.”

Cas stood in the doorway with his arms crossed.

“Dean.”

Their bodies were still but their minds were racing, checking around each other’s walls, looking for cracks in their own. After a moment of internal analysis, Dean realized there was no need. Cas looked exhausted and he was sure he looked no better.

“I’m sorry to have interrupted,” Cas began, flustered for some reason, “I just wanted...I…” He stared at his hands. _Miss you._

It was so faint Dean thought he’d imagined it, but it made his heart jump anyway. He stepped forward in spite of himself and Cas mirrored him.

He wanted so badly to nuzzle behind Cas’s ear and breathe him in, wanted to feel the hard lines of his back beneath his hands, wanted to hear the sweet whisper of Cas’s mind in the background of his own, drifting lazily through his walls like a breeze through open windows. The pull was so strong his shoulders hunched forward but Dean steadied himself and nodded.

“You been ok?” he finally asked gruffly.

Cas looked at him as if he’d made a shitty joke.

“Right,” Dean muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets and scuffing at the floor with his shoe.

He was not expecting Cas to say, “I should’ve told you.”

“Yeah,” Dean said after he’d stopped gaping. “You should’ve.”

“I thought you’d hate me.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

It was Cas’s turn to stare. “You don’t?” He looked so sad. Dean knew the look of someone who didn’t believe they deserved to be forgiven. “But your mother…”

“I can’t - ” Dean realized he was close to yelling and took a deep breath, lowering his voice. “I don’t want to talk about that yet.”

“But we could talk?” Cas asked cautiously.

Talk? The truth of the matter was, as angry and scared and confused as Dean was, he missed Cas desperately. He wanted to fix this, and that decision let the weight he’d been carrying all week slide off Dean’s shoulders so swiftly he was surprised not to hear it hit the floor. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah we can talk. Roof?”

They walked there instead of bending space, trying desperately to soak up one another’s presence while they could. Dean watched absently as threads of his aura reached out to meet strands of Cas’s, tangling together and merging. It made sense as he realized that they were truly more vibrant in each other’s presence.

When they finally emerged from the house the roof was still warm from the heat of the day and Dean laid down, savoring it and folding his hands over his chest. He felt Cas lie next to him, close but not touching, and Dean scooted over to press their shoulders together. In response, Cas lowered his shields a little and Dean responded in kind, sighing in relief at the feeling.

“I missed you, too,” he murmured.

Cas stiffened but Dean saw him smile out of the corner of his eye then nod slowly.

“I think I should start at the beginning,” he said so softly Dean almost missed it. There was heaviness in his voice, fear and guilt in his mind, and Dean reached out to wind their fingers together and press affection into his conscience.

“My mother was an enchantress. My father was mortal and left us before I was born. She worked spells for villagers disguised as herbology, but people were still suspicious. Every day, she weighed the balance of the good she was doing with the malice of people who feared her. Our home was burned, both of us beaten often…” He paused, pressing fingertips into his eyelids. “It feels ridiculous to mourn her still, after so long, but…”

Dean’s chest hurt just watching him. “Not ridiculous. She was your mother. I miss mine every day.”

Cas ignored the comfort and continued. “Eventually, she was killed. I fled, lived without a home for many years, ‘til a young warrior with a touch of his own magic took notice of me.”

“Arthur.”

“Yes.” Cas shifted to look at Dean. “I know what the demon said about him in your dream, but neither the fairy tales nor the demon version are the truth. Arthur was a good man, but bound by the societal expectations of his time. He wanted his country to be stable and free, and he wanted to be taken seriously. He loved his wife, but he struggled with the fact that they were barren for so long. By the time she bore Arthur a child, a daughter, Gwen had already left him. She raised the child in an abbey and after falling in love with Lancelot, never spoke to Arthur again.”

“What about the demon, then? Who was the witch that gave him life at my family’s expense? Did you know her?”

The guilt washed over Cas, which Dean took as an assent but did not prepare him for what was coming.

“Yes. She was my apprentice.”

Dean shot up. “I dreamed about her.”

Cas looked completely unsurprised. “In the stories they called her the Lady of the Lake.”

“Sorry, fucking WHAT?”

“Viviane was her name.” He looked a million miles away, with a sad little smile on his face.

Jealousy bubbled in Dean’s chest briefly and Cas must have felt it because he leaned over to kiss Dean’s cheek then drew back to examine him seriously. “We were in love, Dean. You deserve to know that. And-” He pause to collect himself, dragging air in through his teeth before saying, “It’s my fault this happened.”

“How?”

“She was...petty, frustrated by the time I spent with Arthur. I loved him as a brother, but Viviane thought it was more. By the time Arthur ordered the murder of the demon’s family, she was consumed by jealousy and sought to punish me as she felt I had punished her by putting my service to the king before our relationship.”

“So she sicced a demon on your best friend’s family.”

Cas nodded with haunted eyes. “I kept the creature away for a few generations, but after a while we became...not friends by any means, but we came to an understanding. There is a weight to living so long, even if it was what he thought he wanted.”

Guilt fluttered across Cas’s face and he immediately quashed it, schooling his features into calm apathy. Dean hated it. “He grew weary of the price of his immortality, I grew weary of such constant vigilance. I allowed him to take the lives of the first borns only in their last moments, giving them barely minutes less than their planned time on this earth. He got what he needed and your family got full lives. I did not know he was taking their souls. I thought I was making it easier for both of us.” Grief pounded at Dean’s shields with such intensity that he flinched, reaching for Cas without thinking.

“We’ll fix it. We’ll fix it, Cas. You didn’t know. Let it go.”

Cas pressed his cheek into Dean’s hand and nodded.

“What happened to Viviane?” Dean asked quietly.

“I don’t know. She disappeared. She’s probably dead, or worse.”

“Do you miss her?”

It was a petty question but Cas answered anyway. He looked strangely fond as he said, “No.”

Dean leaned in and kissed him, hesitant after so long apart. The moment was tender only briefly though. Cas licked his way into Dean’s mouth, holding his head still with trembling hands and Dean whimpered.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” Cas murmured into Dean’s cheek, and Dean nodded.

“I wish I hadn’t taken off like that.”

He’d spoken without thought, consumed by the feel of Cas’s mouth on him, but Cas drew back at the comment, watching him cautiously. “I’m sorry about your mother,” he said with such gravity that the mood was instantly dampened.

“Don’t be. You didn’t know. And that...wasn’t what I was upset about.”

Which was true, and fucked up. Dean believed that Cas would’ve done something to help Mary if he’d known. He believed Cas had thought the bloodline ended. He believed Cas would feel guilty about it for the rest of his weirdly long life.

“What, then?” Cas asked cautiously.

Dean hopped up off cooling tiles and shoved his hands in his pockets, pacing. “I just...” He walked a lap around a few large tiles before saying, “You’re bound to my bloodline. Is this…” he gestured between them, “because of that duty? If I weren’t Arthur’s grandkid...If we weren’t bonded…If this wasn’t your job… would we still…?” He kept tripping over his words and finally gave up, frustrated by his own tongue and his inability to read anything from Cas.

He wasn’t sure what he was hoping Cas would say, or if it even mattered. It just felt implausible that something this good was truly meant for him, that it wasn’t an accident, or worse, that they were being controlled by an outside force and it wasn’t real at all.

The thoughts overtook him and he startled when he realized Cas was standing next to him at the roof’s edge, staring out over the apple orchard hung with the gossamer rain spell he’d cast.

“Maybe our paths wouldn’t have crossed, if things were different. But I can tell you with certainty that in every reality we’ve known one another, I have loved you.”

Loved you.

A soft, hurt sound escaped Dean’s throat without his consent but he let it hang in the air, unsure of what else to do. He couldn’t say it back yet, didn’t deserve it.

“Cas.”

Soft lips pressed to Dean’s cheek then slid up to his temple as Cas said, “Enough talking.”

He held still for a moment, leaning into the soft warmth of Cas along his side. It was comforting in a way he rarely got to experience. Cas ran the tip of his tongue back to Dean’s ear leaving a trail of tingling around the shell of it.

“Let’s uh...go to your room, ok?” Dean murmured. He felt Cas nod, felt him start to bend space, but Dean caught his hand. “Wait. Let’s walk.”

Cas looked surprised, but obeyed.

Dean wanted to move slowly, wanted to feel Cas near him, smell him, watch their magic twine and dance. He pressed their palms together as they moved along the carpeted hallways, feeling the callouses on Cas’s fingers rub against his own.

In closer proximity now, both their minds were calmer, but longing tugged at them from both sides. By the time they reached Cas’s bedroom, Dean’s throat was tight with feeling and he was grateful to see that when the door closed behind them, Cas looked the same way.

In reality their fight had been brief, barely more than a week, but Dean felt desperate even to brush his fingertips over Cas’s features. He traced Cas’s lips, ran gentle knuckles down his cheek, across his brow bone and when his hands weren’t enough he held Cas’s head still and brushed his lips over his jaw, his temple, the creases at the corners of his eyes. The gestures had to be enough, had to say what he couldn’t.

Cas must’ve heard the unspoken words because he drew in a ragged breath and fisted the hem of Dean’s shirt, pulling him closer. “Dean,” he gasped, warm breath ghosting over Dean’s mouth, and finally they kissed.

Warm palms brushed up Dean’s stomach, lifting his shirt. In the space where their lips were separated, he returned the favor, quickly unbuttoning Cas’s shirt and tossing it aside. Almost too roughly he yanked Cas forward by the hips, crushing their chests together, but it was perfect, pressed together from their mouths to their thighs and both men sighed into it.

“Missed you so much,” Dean murmured.

“Stubborn,” Cas growled, popping the button at the waistband of Dean’s jeans. Dean grinned and shimmied out of the clothes.

“You saying you didn’t miss me?”

Cas bit his lip and put his hands on his hips. “I’m not saying anything,” he muttered, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth.

“Now look who’s stubborn.”

Cas shrugged, an attempt at coy nonchalance, and Dean returned the gesture, stepping back.

“Well, if you didn’t miss me then I guess I’ll just take this party elsewhere.”

Lighter than he’d felt in days and laughing, Dean turned and walked to the bed, grabbing the lube from the nightstand as he went. Pouring a generous amount into his hand, he slicked it down his cock in one obscene gesture then leaned over, propping one elbow on the bed and reached around to begin working himself open.

He heard the sharp intake of breath and rustling fabric behind him and pretended to ignore it, moaning a little louder than neccessary as he slipped a second finger in. Reaching back around, Dean fisted his cock, the wet sound of it turning him on even more.

So lost in the feeling, he didn’t notice Cas moving until his tongue licked a stripe from Dean’s balls up to the base of his spine, and if Cas hadn’t wound an arm around his hips, he would’ve fallen to his knees.

“Fuck, Cas,” he groaned.

Cas pressed his tongue in then withdrew. Dean pushed his ass back but Cas stilled him with a hand on his lower back that slid up his spine, twined into his hair, and tugged sharply.

“Goddammit,” Dean whined, and then Cas’s mouth was back on him, and words were no longer an option. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, Dean scrambled up on the bed on hands and knees looking back over his shoulder. “Please, Cas. Please, please, please,” he breathed, slumping forward down to the bed.

The mattress dipped and Dean waited for strong hands to grasp his hips. Instead, Cas pushed him over, rolling Dean to his back, then grabbed him under his thighs, pulling him close and tugging his knees up onto Cas’s shoulders. Cas looked wild, fierce, a moment away from losing control, but they way he handled Dean was familiar, reverent.

With no more prep than what Dean had done and some extra lube, Cas pressed in, giving Dean almost no time to adjust. Claiming.

“Fuck,” Dean moaned, the burn lighting him up from the inside out, and he grasped onto Cas’s thighs, pulling him closer as he angled his hips up to take him deeper.

“Dean,” Cas breathed. “Oh shit.”

“ _Cas_.”

“Missed your mouth,” he murmured, lips brushing across Dean’s. “Missed your smell.” He nuzzled into Dean’s neck then drew back, dragging his nails lightly down Dean’s torso, causing Dean to arch up as his legs dropped to Cas’s waist. “Missed your beautiful mind.”

Dean rolled his hips, attempting to convince Cas to move, attempting to shift his focus. It was overwhelming to be here, under him, the center of his world. Almost too much. Almost.

Cas moved in languid thrusts, giving the appearance of control though his lips were red from biting them in a desperate effort to keep quiet, and that wouldn’t do. Dean pulled him forward to whine against Dean’s lips as his facade broke. Holding himself up over Dean’s body, he shuddered as Dean fucked himself up on Cas’s cock, heels digging into the bed.

Dean knew he was in total control of this situation. He knew the way his face looked, flushed, eyes shining. He knew the muscles across every plane of his body were strung taut with need and pleasure, the itch of almost enough. And it was Cas, immovable, unshakable Cas, whose expression showed more vulnerability than Dean had ever seen on him.

Dean rolled them in order to ride Cas more effectively and the sudden shift was perfect, angle just right, and he knew it was just as good for Cas because a wave of pleasure breached his walls and swept through him, leaving him gasping.

“Shit! Cas!”

They were both a bit of a mess, and Dean could tell that Cas was clearly pushed to the edge of his comfort zone (Dean was too but at least he was used to it lately), so in an effort to create some space if he needed it, Dean slid off Cas offering breathlessly, “You wanna get behind me?”

“No!” Cas shot up but also back, looking hurt for a split second before schooling his features.

“Cas?”

Blushing, Cas shook his head saying, “Sorry. Of course. If that’s what you’d like.”

“But it’s not what you’d like,” Dean countered.

Cas slumped against the headboard, glistening with sweat, tan skin flushed ruddy, looking profoundly uncomfortable. “It’s not of import,” he said slowly.

Shuffling up to him, Dean took Cas’s face in his hands. “It is to me. Why don’t you want to be behind me?”

 _I need to see your face,_ Cas thought as he said aloud, “It’s really ok.”

“See my face?”

Cas winced as if he’d forgotten Dean could hear inside his head, pulling his face from Dean’s hands.

His eyes were pleading, and Dean thought maybe he knew what had Cas so nervous. “Cas, what you said before...about how you feel about me? I...man you gotta know I feel the same way.” He paused. “I wanna see you too.”

A raw sound was ripped from Cas, starting deep in his chest, and he sprung forward, pinning Dean to the bed and sliding back into him with such ease Dean would’ve been suspicious of some magical tampering except that he could see the way Cas’s aura swirled desperately, unbridled and uncontrolled.

Cas buried his head in the crook of Dean’s neck as he murmured, “Thought I’d lost you.” He reared back and Dean groan when their eyes locked. His sweat-clumsy fingers swept across Dean’s already slick lips, then down, possessively across his neck.

They rocked together, Cas gathering Dean to him in an embrace only parted when they drew back for more leverage. Faster and harder and Dean knew he wouldn’t last. Knew Cas was there with him.

And yet, something on Cas’s face still read pain.

_Oh._

“Cas! Goddamnit you asshole. I love you! Of course I love you!” Dean pulled them together once more, kissing him again, and Cas’s release was tearing through them both.

“Fuck!”

“Dean, Dean, Dean, oh, oh,” he sobbed, slumping down into Dean’s chest.

He felt Cas shudder against him and he rode out the last of his own orgasm before gathering Cas into his arms. He pressed kissed across Cas’s cheekbones, eyelids, the crown of his head until Cas finally gasped, “Dean.”

The warmth of his breath ghosted over the pentagram tattoo on Dean’s pec, mostly healed but still a little tender, and the muscle twitched as Dean said, “I love you, idiot."

Cas snorted a small laugh and nuzzled into Dean’s neck. “How romantic,” he said dryly.

Dean could tell he was feeling raw and vulnerable, and in an attempt to make him feel more comfortable, Dean opened his mind a little Cas’s body stiffened against his own for a moment, then he heaved himself up to kiss Dean again, ferocious and full of feeling.

“Beautiful man,” he murmured. “Beloved.”

\--

Dean wasn’t freaking out.

He loved Cas, and he’d said it aloud. So what?

Ok, so he was freaking out.

Dean rapped on Sam’s door so ferociously that Sam whipped it open looking scared but when he saw Dean all he said was, “Oh. You made up with Cas I see.”

Scowling, Dean walked past him into his room.

“I told him I loved him!”

He turned around abruptly waiting to see the shock or surprise on Sam’s face, _something_ that would acknowledge what a big fucking deal this was but instead Sam was just smiling.

“Good.”

“Good?” Dean nearly shouted.

Sam sighed. “You love him don’t you?”

“Of course I do!”

“You want him to know it, don’t you?”

“Definitely.”

“You know he loves you too, right?”

“Of course.” Dean rolled his eyes at the absurdity of the comment.

“You know you deserve this, right?”

“I-”

He stared at Sam and Sam stared right back, eyebrows raised, waiting for Dean’s reaction.

“I-” Dean began again but found he couldn’t continue.

Deserve this? Genuinely unable to defend his non-answer, to Sam or himself, he said, “That’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t the point that you think he’s too good for you? You think he only loves you because of some curse from two thousand years ago. Or that it’s just the magic? Is that it?” Dean stared open-mouthed and Sam continued. “You deserve it, Dean. You’re a good man, a good brother. If he loves you, than it’s enough. You’re enough.”

 _More than enough_ , Cas thought, soft and sleepy from the bedroom.

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times before saying, “Sammy, aside from you, the last person I said that to was Mom.”

Dean felt a pang of guilt and a complicated swirl of feeling from Cas’s mind, but Sam just nodded and said, “I can’t think of a better person to have given that too. Can you?”

He was right. With rough strides Dean crossed the room and crushed his brother to him, thumping him on the back a few times.

When they pulled apart Dean cleared his throat. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

Sam laughed. “I think I’m just smart enough.”

Dean scowled, knowing Sammy could see right through it. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very temporary character death.

“You’re an ass,” Cas muttered under his breath. Dean was using his magic to launch little flecks of cereal from the bowl into the air and attempting to catch them in his mouth as they fell.

“Yeah, but I’m your ass,” Dean said, winking roguishly.

“I don’t know whether to be disgusted or endeared.”

“That’s a common problem with Dean,” Sam mumbled as he entered the kitchen rubbing his eyes sleepily, bare feet slapping on the tile. “And speaking of which, we’ve got a problem.”

“What’s up?” Dean asked, chuckling to himself as Sam poured cereal into a mixing bowl and began eating.

“I had a dream.”

Dean sat up straight, no longer smiling. “About what?”

“Pamela. The demon. The restaurant.”

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath, then louder, “Fuck. Any suggestion of a timeline?”

Sam shook his head. “I already called her, told her to keep her eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. The only tells I had were that it was raining and dark out when shit went down, but the dreams aren't always a hundred percent accurate…” He trailed off, poking distractedly at his food.

“We’ll figure it out, Sammy,” Dean murmured reassuringly.

Despite the subdued nature of the rest of the meal, they didn’t talk about Sam’s dream anymore. Cas inconspicuously pulled out his phone and checked the weather, and Dean smirked as he noticed Charlie’s wifi spell dancing around the device. He opened his mouth to tease Cas about it, but Cas shoved the app under his nose. No rain until tomorrow.

When Sammy left to got try for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, Cas leaned in towards Dean.

“What do you want to do?” he asked quietly.

“Me? You’re the pro here. I’m just a newbie.”

“But this is personal for you.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah. It is. And I’d rather not let my emotions cloud my judgement. What do you think we should do?”

With his chin resting on steepled fingers, Cas considered silently while Dean chewed his lip. He was learning that Cas was a great tactician and he would be the first guy Dean’d pick to be on his side in a fight, every time.

“We’ll talk to Pam. Set up some wards. I’ll stay with her at the restaurant for a few days.”

“Ok first of all, you’re not doing anything by yourself. I’ll come with you.”

“Dean-” Cas began, but Dean cut him off.

“Second, why don’t we just shut down the restaurant for awhile? What?”

Cas was scowling at him.

“You really think Pam will allow that?”

“Good point,” Dean conceded. “Ok. Fine. But you’re still not going alone.”

“Dean, I’m fine.”

“How would this conversation be going if our roles were reversed? If I was the one saying I was going to camp out, face off with that creepy fucker by myself?”

“I wouldn’t ‘face off’, of course I’d call for reinforcements if he showed up-”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, exasperated.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice was stern. It was kind of sexy.

Dean shook his head. Not the time for that.

“I’m not letting this go.”

A growl rumbled from deep in Cas’s chest and his hand shot out, fisting the collar of Dean’s shirt and yanking him forward. “You stubborn ass.” He didn’t give any time for argument, kissing Dean breathless. When they broke apart they were both flushed and red-lipped.

“Shower,” Cas said gruffly. Dean didn’t argue when he felt space bend and his feet touch the tile of Cas’s master bathroom, and he didn’t argue when Cas shoved him against the counter and sank to his knees.

By lunch they were in Pam’s office. It was a little surreal and pleasant being back at the restaurant after so long away, but Dean found himself feeling vaguely guilty through the meal they shared.

“Don’t you dare,” Pam murmured from behind his shoulder. They watched as Cas moved around the dining area checking the wards he and Dean had strung up over the past hour.

“Huh?” Dean glanced up from his coffee.

“Don’t you dare feel guilty. Even though you’re my favorite bartender-” Dean scoffed. Pam gave him a stern look and continued. “I’ll let you go on one condition.”

“Which is?”

She turned to him, hand on his shoulder. “Live, Dean. Watch your brother graduate valedictorian. Make friends. Fuck that gorgeous boyfriend of yours.”

He could feel a muscle working in his jaw and was surprised at the ache there from holding back tears.

“Bit rich saying this to the guy who might’ve arranged a meeting between you and the devil. You were screwed from the moment you hired me.”

“DEAN. You’re not listening.”

“He does that with frustrating regularity,” Cas quipped and both Dean and Pam shot him a look.

“Oh can it, Mister Avoidance Tactics,” Pam said. “You’re both ridiculous and I’ve had enough of it. Be good to each other. Enjoy yourselves once in a goddamn while. Understood?”

She fixed both of them with a stare and they both wilted a little but nodded. “Now. You’ve done your duty. The wards will go off if anything remotely shady even thinks about this place. Now get. Go have unfairly hot sex or something.”

Dean snorted and Cas blushed and Pam yelled, “GO!”

With a gentle twist of space, Dean pulled them out of the restaurant and back to the house. They stood opposite each other, silent for a moment until Dean poked Cas in the chest and said, “Heh. Mr. Avoidance Tactics.”

Cas frowned, nose wrinkling adorably, and muttered, “Just because you’re my boyfriend doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass.”

Dean beamed. “Boyfriend, huh? I like the sound of that.” Affection pulsed through the bond, but a twist of guilt followed it. Now what?

Before Dean could ask, Cas took him by the hand and murmured, “Come on. I want to show you something.”

Until they turned down the dim hallway, Dean wasn’t sure where they were headed, but when he saw the glimmer of the gold chain, he knew. They drew to a stop in front of the door sealed with the tiny sphere of blood. “Been meaning to ask you about this,” Dean whispered.

“You’ve seen it?” Cas sounded genuinely surprised.

“When Benny and I were doing repairs on the house.”

“How did you know it was mine?”

There was a weight to the question embedded deep in the softness of Cas’s voice, but Dean couldn’t decipher it. As he responded he ghosted a finger a few centimeters from the gold latticework, delighting in the tiny shockwaves coming from the chains. “It’s so... you. You’re magic is like this. Detail, but with purpose. And you leave behind a piece of yourself in all of it. Not usually as literally as your blood, but you know,” he finished with a small laugh, embarrassed and unsure why.

Awe, and gratitude, and a deep sense of joy in being known emanated from Cas, and Dean startled. Those were not surface emotions. Cas was lowering his walls, letting him in. It took a few seconds and a tiny panic attack, but Dean did the same, smiling through a sigh as Cas’s mind flitted into his own.

_Beautiful._

Dean wasn’t sure whose thought it was, but it hung between them until Cas said, “Open it.”

“Huh?”

“The door. Open it.”

“How? I mean, this spell is basically a big fat keep out sign.”

Cas shrugged, grinning. “Figure it out. Fair warning though, if you touch the chains without diffusing the spell you’ll shock the shit out of yourself. Enough to induce a heart attack. So get it right, for both our sakes.”

Dean gaped but Cas just stood there, arms folded, blue eyes twinkling. Stupid beautiful eyes.

Ripping himself away from the sight, Dean turned back to the spelled door. Ok.

Examining the magic more closely, Dean thought about Cas. Cas was strategic, logical, but this room was also personal to him. Squinting, he realized that at every intersection of the charmed chain, spells were rigged like tiny landmines. Cas liked order, beauty, function. Each of the lines of gold eventually ended at the oval of spell that encircled the blood.

Lifeblood. The heart. The center.

Circled and cut off from the rest, like Cas in his self imposed loneliness over the centuries. What did it take to get Cas to open up? To be known. To know that he wasn’t alone. He’d needed to hear Dean say, “I love you, too.” The molecules of the blood swirled faintly under his witch-sight, looking almost as if they were waiting for an answer to a question.

Reciprocation.

Dean grinned. There it was. With barely a twitch, he summoned the small, sharp knife they used for peeling vegetables from the kitchen and swept it across his palm. He dragged his fingertips through the resulting wetness and with trembling hands pressed the bloody pad of one finger into the sphere.

Light pulsed from every link of the latticework then the orb of blood exploded, rushing along the chains and, with a glow the color of Cas’s aura, turned them to dust. With a gentle hand Dean turned the knob and pushed. The door swung open but before he could enter Cas caught his wrist and turned him around.

He brought Dean’s hand to his lips and healed it with a kiss, a sheen glimmering over the glow of his irises but not falling. “You’re remarkable, Dean Winchester.” He paused. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Dean’s voice wasn’t working around the lump in his throat and the feelings knocking around in Cas’s head, but Cas just shook his head and gestured to the door.

“Go. Look inside.”

Nervousness swept their minds, and Dean grabbed Cas’s hand and pulled him through the door. Cas flicked on the light.

\--

The first was of Cas’s mother, but unlike the sketch Cas had done on the receipt and then thrown in the trash, it was in full color and Dean found he’d been right. Her eyes were blue.

Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled the crumpled receipt from his wallet and tucked it in the frame beneath the painting. “You’re a sap,” Cas said tightly, but Dean felt the ache in the bond and squeezed his hand.

The room was packed. Tables stacked with sketchbooks, old coffee tins filled with brushes, boxes of paints and pastels and pencil and knobbly erasers. Every inch of the walls were hung with paintings and stacks of them leaned against the wall. “Holy shit Cas.”

Those were the only words Dean spoke for almost an hour. He reverently flipped through every sketchbook, every canvas. He brushed his fingers over the handful of sculptures. He stood and stared, hands clenched in pockets.. It was fascinating to see how Cas’s style had changed over the years, how he’d adapted concepts from the artists of different eras. Dean could tell they were all Cas’s though, something similar to an aura hung about each work of art, revealing their master unintentionally.

The landscapes in oil pastel were radiant and Dean found himself getting lost in a few of them much the same way he got lost in books. There were watercolors of flowers, animals, rainy, cobbled streets.

Color in every medium streaked through the room, but Dean found that his favorite works were the pencil sketches. They were less planned, less polished, more a reflection of Cas’s feelings about the subject, for example the recurring sketch in the notebooks of a little thatched hut reeked of _home_.

Flipping through a small sketchpad that had to be at least five hundred years old, Dean stumbled across a pencil sketch of Vivaine. He recognized her from his dream, and the image was laced with complicated emotions: love, anger, betrayal.

She was beautiful. He could see that, even clouded by jealousy. Resisting the urge to raise his mental barriers again, Dean murmured, “You trusted her.”

Intense sadness filtered into his consciousness as Cas looked over his shoulder. “It was a mistake.”

“I’m sorry she hurt you,” Dean offered, glad that Cas could see his sincerity.

“I should’ve known,” was the bitter reply.

“Cas. Castiel,” Dean tried again when Cas refused to be pulled out of his thoughts. “You’re allowed to want things. You hoped she would make the right choice. You trusted her. That’s strength, not weakness, even though you were wrong.”

The brief speech was more vulnerable than Dean had intended, and he turned the page of the book to distract them both. The image, a young man, made him chuckle. “Who is this?”

Cas was smiling too. “A friend of mine.”

The guy was wearing weird, puffy pants and a high collared shirt. He smiled, but his shoulders slumped low showing age beyond his years. He was pacing toward the viewer, lost in thought. He looked strangely familiar.

“What was his name?”

“Will.”

“When did you draw this?”

Cas frowned, reflecting. “Late fifteen hundreds I’d guess. He looks young there. I drew this at my apartment. He had asked for some magical assistance with the play he was writing. I refused, but offered to keep him company. He was upset with me, but it turned out for the best, in the end.”

“Will,” Dean said slowly. 

“Yes.” Cas was smiling at the picture, wistful.

“Writing plays?”

Cas nodded.

“Is that Shakespeare?” His voice rose to a squeak in his incredulity, but Cas just nodded again.

“He was a good man. I enjoyed his company.”

“That’s so cool, man. Who’s this?” He pointed to the next page.

They talked through the sketchbook and some of the paintings before Dean resumed his wandering and Cas set about organizing some of the boxes of supplies that were filled to the brim and balanced precariously on the windowsills.

The room was large, but not much bigger than a classroom, and as Dean worked his way through it, he noticed an easel towards the back, angled away from the door to be lit by the window. He was glad he saved it for last.

It was him.

It was done in pencil, lines soft and clean. Each freckle, each laugh line was drawn in lovingly. He looked incredible. Dean felt a blush creep up his neck. “Flatterer.”

Cas joined him at the easel. “I draw what I see Dean. You are gorgeous. I wouldn’t draw you any less.’

Shyly, Dean murmured, “Thank you for showing me this.”

As they headed back out, arm in arm, Cas jabbed Dean with his elbow. “You can repay me with some nude modeling, ok?”

Dean barked a laugh. “Aye aye captain!” He closed the door behind them. “You gonna reset the spell?”

Cas froze in the hallway. He looked at the door, then at Dean, then back to the door again. “No. It will be fine.”

Dean wasn’t sure why they both smiled the whole way back to the bedroom, only that the comment felt like victory.

\--

The dream had ended abruptly with the demon snarling the same warning, that he would burn through everyone Dean loved. He jerked himself awake, ignoring the way his throat burned.

Fucking nightmares.

Buzzing. His whole fucking body was buzzing, aftershocks of Cas’s magic sweeping up his spine and into his skull, trying to force him back to sleep. It almost worked, but when Dean stretched out an arm for Cas, his palm hit cold sheets instead and worry began working it’s way into his brain. Groggily, he peeled the spell away from his bones with a bit of his own magic.

A sleep spell. What the fuck?

He glanced out the window. Rain splattered against the pane, and the sky was navy, dark for that time of day.

No!

Dean shot up in bed. No no no!

They’d fallen asleep early, intending to nap until dinner. Dean had been planning on going to the restaurant to check in on Pam, just in case, but he’d kept that thought hidden, tucked far away where Cas couldn’t see it. This was Dean’s fight and no one else’s, Dean’s fault Cas was back in the game after having ‘retired’.

Dean didn’t want to worry him, and if he was being honest with himself, he was feeling a little spiteful about Cas wanting to ditch him and stake out the restaurant on his own. Dean wanted him to get a little taste of his own medicine.

But it was too late. And Dean was sure he knew where Cas had gone.

Frantically, he yanked on his jeans and tugged on a shirt that had been discarded on the carpet. Almost before his shoes were tied, he bent space along the familiar path, still lit with Cas’s magic, to the restaurant.

Dean appeared, kneeling on the damp asphalt, behind the back door to the kitchen, and he magicked the locked door open, careful not to make a sound. The kitchen was not only empty, but dark, which was a problem. The restaurant was closed, but the last shift should have been finishing up cleaning and restocking.

“You told me you were taking their lives, not their souls.” Cas's voice was icy.

“I would apologize, but…” The demon sounded gleeful not apologetic.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit,” Pam spat, but then there was a gurgle.

“Let her go,” Cas commanded, ancient magic crackling along the words and jolting up Dean’s spine.

Guilt from Cas, and worry, pounded hard at Dean’s shields, but he’d drawn them up to keep Cas from sensing his presence, and the onslaught did little more than make him twitch.

“I’ll make a deal for you. You let me have that boy of yours, and I’ll set the rest of the souls free.”

The silence rang in Dean’s ears.

The demon couldn’t be serious. Could he?

Surely there were magical ways to bind him to a contract. If he meant what he said...

“No.” Cas’s voice was adamant. “Let her go,” he repeated. He sounded so calm, but his mind swirled violently next to Dean’s.

“Cas.” He didn’t remember moving, but Dean found himself standing next to his boyfriend, eyes fixed on where the demon had Pam pinned by the neck to one of the support pillars in the center of the dining room.

_Dean. No! You weren’t supposed to be here._

_Shoulda fuckin’ talked to me then, dick,_ Dean shot back, before saying. “Let her go and we’ll talk.”

The demon snarled, threw Pam across the room, crashing into Dean’s chest, and the moment he caught her, he sent her back to Cas’s. The wards there would keep her safe.

“Now that we’re alone…”

“You can’t have him!” For the first time that night, Cas’s voice betrayed him, panic raising the usually deep tone up a few pitches.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Dean said, ignoring Cas’s panic attack for now. The opportunity to free all those souls was too good not to discuss.

The demon opened the hole in its face to speak, but a streak of light that felt like Bobby shot through the air, throwing the thing to the floor and Dean whirled around to see the old man standing next to the bar, Ellen at his side.

“Get out of here!” Dean hollered. “This my fight!”

“Ain’t no such thing, idjit,” Bobby scolded, then tossed another bolt of magic over the creature to keep it pinned. It was less effective this time, though, and as the demon struggled out from under the spell it hurled several chairs and a table in their direction and a protection spell from Ellen only barely saved them from certain crushing.

“We’re not going anywhere without you, you goddamn stubborn dumbass, so you better tell us what you need!” hollered Ellen.

Dean let out a yell, frustrated and overwhelmed, but his father’s training was thorough, so he cleared his mind and got to work.

“Ellen, hold the defense spell, Bobby, I need a distraction. Cas, let’s send this sonofabitch back to where he came from.”

Intense displeasure emanated from Cas, but it was as solid a plan as any, and they quickly got to work.

_What got rid of him last time?_

_I’m not sure, Dean. You used his own magic against him, but I don’t know why he disappeared._

_Any alternatives? Something you’ve used before?_

_Let’s try…_

Through their shared headspace Cas gave Dean the information about the spell he wanted to use. It dismantled the target on a molecular level. Standing shoulder to shoulder they hurled the spell over the shield Ellen was holding up, and when it hit the creature it looked for a moment like it might be working. The thing swelled up and grew fuzzy at the edges as the atoms of its body shook loose, but within seconds the expanding matter contracted in on itself and became whole once more.

“Didn’t work last time either, Merlin!” The creature sounded breathless, but not nearly dead enough for Dean’s liking. He threw the magic at it as it dodged another one of Bobby’s spells and a chunk of flesh flew off where Dean’s spell had hit, but the creature appeared unscathed.

“Uh, shut _up_ ,” Cas spat.

The demon hurled itself at the protection spell and ricocheted off the invisible barrier, but Ellen stumbled backward and into the bar. The continuity of her magic wavered only slightly, but the demon tried to push it’s way in, and as Bobby reinforced Ellen’s magic, Dean and Cas shoved it out of the sphere.

“We can’t destroy it. Too strong!” Cas sounded tired. That more than anything else let Dean know it was time for something drastic.

They hadn’t destroyed the creature last time either. Maybe they’d sent it somewhere else, somewhere it would take time to crawl back out of. What did the demon fear? What did it respect?

The panic room from Dean’s dream jumped into his mind. It hadn’t been his memory, but it had felt tangible, not a place of imagination or dreaming, so it must have been a place the demon knew. Even in the dream it felt powerful, and although the creature had an upper hand in that context, Dean was confident he could manipulate that balance of power. But he needed access to the demon.

“Ellen! Bobby! I need you guys to go home! We’ll take it from here!”

“Not happening kid!”

“Then _don’t move_!” Dean hollered, gesturing to the shell of protective magic. Cas caught his arm as he made to step out of it.

_What the fuck are you doing?_

Dean shoved an image of the panic room at Cas. _He showed it to me in a dream. It holds power for him. I think I can turn that power back on him, keep him locked up, but I need direct contact to get him there._

Cas looked furious. _Let me do it._

_Not a chance. I know the place, I can picture it, you’ve never been there, never seen it._

_You just showed it to me._

_Goddamn it Cas, we both know that’s not going to be good enough!_

_This is too risky. It’s a stretch to think that that place even exists._

_I know it does. Just trust me for once, ok?_

_...For once…? Dean!_

He heard Cas’s shout, but he’d already stepped out from behind the shield. The creature didn’t notice him at first, distracted by the ceaseless attacks Ellen was launching over the shell while Bobby now held it in place, but the second he noticed, he hurled a chair for Dean to dodge, followed by a lick of flame. The chair missed him, but with the flame he wasn’t so lucky.

He just needed to get close enough to touch the thing. Ice and water and fire and furniture flew as Dean gradually edged closer. He was hit with chunks of wood and whorls of fire as he moved within the blast radius, but Dean could see Cas creeping around behind the creature. What the fuck was he doing?

A distraction.

A split second before Cas reached the creature its eyes lit up and Dean realized it knew Cas was coming. It turned on its heel, one brittle bone cracking loudly out of the socket, and plunged something into Cas. Dean couldn’t tell if it was a piece of splintered furniture or a blade but the pain in his gut told him exactly what was going on.

_Now Dean!_

Panicked, Dean grabbed the thing by the arm and immediately sunk into his head, reaching out into the void, finding the panic room, then tearing them through space. The sudden silence was jarring, but Dean threw the creature across the room and backed out of the door.

“No!” It screeched. “You can’t-”

But Dean wasn’t listening anymore. The door clanged shut, and after he locked it he laced the door with a similar spell to what Cas had used on his art room, sealing it with blood from a cut on his arm. When the spell was finished he slumped against the wall reached out to find Cas.

_Cas, you ok?_

_Cas?_

_CAS!_

His knees buckled as he landed back in the dining room of the restaurant where Bobby and Ellen were standing a few feet from where he knelt next to Cas’s body.

“What are you doing?” Dean shouted.

Something was so, so wrong. He pulled Cas into his lap and warm blood soaked through his jeans.

“Help him!”

“Dean, he’ll be fine, just give him a minute,” Ellen said soothingly.

“The fuck are you talking about? He’s-”

It wasn’t just silent in the panic room before, nor in the restaurant now. It was silent in his mind. Nothing.

He was alone.

Dean bent his head down to Cas’s chest. “No,” he breathed. “No. Please Cas. Please.” Desperately, he ran his hands over Cas trying to heal his body, but even Dean with his powerful enchanter’s magic couldn’t bring the dead back to life.

A hiccupping sob caught in his chest. This couldn’t happen. Not now. He couldn’t lose someone else. Pain, then anger, so intense he started to black out overtook him, but as his vision blurred, white-blue light burst behind his eyelids and with a painful jolt, Cas’s mind surged back into his.

Dean forgot to raise his shields so all of Cas swept through him, disoriented, then sore, then grateful, then concerned. He ran a hand through Dean’s hair and said up awkwardly, coughing into his elbow and spitting out a mouthful of blood.

Dean stumbled backwards, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Dean,” Cas said softly, hoarsely. “I’m fine.”

“But...but you…”

“He’s immortal, kid,” Ellen said quietly. “This is part of the package. It just takes a minute for him to recoop.”

“You should’ve...I didn’t…” Dean opened his mouth in an attempt to speak again, then ducked behind the bar to puke his guts out in the garbage can.

\--

Dean was furious. Adrenaline, confusion, betrayal, and embarrassment fueled him. He couldn’t have been doing a very good job keeping his mental barriers up, but Cas kept his pulled high as Dean dragged Cas the last few steps into the bedroom and slammed the door so hard a picture fell from the wall, saved only by Cas’s cat-like reflexes catching it before it hit the ground.

“Dean,” he began, but got no further.

“What the fuck Cas? Why didn’t you tell me you were a goddamn superhero?” Cas opened his mouth, but Dean wasn’t done. “And I can’t believe you sleep spelled me!”

Cas had the decency to look a little guilty at that.

“Dean, I - ”

“Sneaking off in the middle of the fucking night? You promised you wouldn’t go! You fucking promised!”

“So did you!”

Dean froze, confused. “What?”

“I’m in your head! Did you think I wouldn’t hear you, feel your worry? I knew you were going to sneak out. Even if I wasn’t bonded to you, I would’ve known you weren’t going to take a chance with Pam. Why would I be any different? I didn’t outgrow friendship, or duty, or god forbid, love these past few centuries! Did you think me so cold?”

“That’s not the point!”

“Oh isn’t it?”

“You lied to me,” Dean’s voice was soft and embarrassingly close to petulant.

“You lied to me,” Cas returned evenly.

“I was going after you!”

“Only because I happened to leave first!”

Neither of them had a response, so they stood opposite one another, fists clenched, chests heaving.

Fuck this, Dean thought. Cas was right, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Fuck these feelings, fuck this relationship, fuck it all to hell. He didn’t need this.

Abruptly, he turned on his heel to leave but Cas’s voice stopped him. “I know how you feel.”

Dean spun around again, snarling.

“Really? Really? Then enlighten me, oh mighty enchanter.”

Cas looked a little sad as he said, “Not only did you risk your own, very mortal, life tonight, but I’ve held you in my arms while you were bleeding out. I thought you might die. And I was furious with you for putting yourself in that situation.” The first encounter with the demon, all those months ago. Dean had almost forgotten about it. “But it wasn’t your fault, and Dean, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“But we weren’t…together then,” Dean stammered, trying to cover the fact that Cas was terrifyingly close to the truth. “It was different.”

“I loved you even then,” Cas admitted softly, looking sadder still. “Not so different for me,” he added with a wry half smile.

Weary from the fight, Dean staggered forward and roughly began unbuttoning Cas’s shirt. Cas simply stood there, watching, as Dean ran his fingers over Cas’s ribs and stomach, over his sternum and shoulder blades and the crown of his head, checking for breaks or lacerations. A quick once over showed Cas to be covered in soot and blood, but no broken bones or even open wounds. He’d already healed. When Dean was finished with his search he collapsed forward into Cas, faceplanting into his neck.

“I loved you then, too,” he whispered.

“What?” Cas murmured, lifting Dean’s face with a hand on his jaw.

“I loved you then, too,” Dean repeated, trying and mostly failing to make eye contact, succeeding only long enough to see Cas’s face break wide open before he pulled him into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more clear, Dean. I cannot die. I thought…It doesn’t matter what I thought.” His voice cracked a little. “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Dean couldn’t condone it, and he couldn’t condemn it. If their situations were reversed, he’d have done the same.The adrenaline was still racing through him, buzzing under his skin, and Cas must’ve felt it, but he continued to hold his body still, allowing Dean the option of changing his mind. His hesitance made Dean want to scream and break something, but instead he shoved Cas towards the bed where he fell, legs hanging over the edge of the mattress.

Shaky and reverent, he finished pulling the clothes off Cas's body and took a step back to view him in full. Powerful thighs led up to sharp hips, a flat stomach lined lightly with muscles, strong shoulders and arms. Long fingers. Soft lips. Messy hair. _Mine_ , Dean thought. 

Cas grabbed Dean’s face in his hands. He must’ve heard. “When you stepped out from behind that shield...such a risk with that panic room...I was so worried…” Witch sight showed Cas’s aura trembling. He’d been giving Dean space, but he’d been terrified. Dean could see it now.

Almost without meaning to, Dean sank to his knees. He pressed his mouth to the tattoo just above Cas's hipbone, then began to move, wanting to kiss and bite and mark every inch of the man.

He’d only lost Cas for seconds back at the restaurant, only an instant of radio silence, and as hard as he was trying to distance himself from the panic, it was affecting him. He sucked a bruise into Cas's hip, proving to himself that blood still flowed beneath the tan skin. Dean kissed him until Cas had to break away and gasp for breath to prove air still moved through his chest. He left marks beneath his fingertips, gripping Cas tightly, keeping him there. Safe.

Cas, for his part, watched in relative silence. His hands rested lightly on Dean's arms, sliding across them when he shifted. It wasn't until Dean took Cas's dick into his mouth, already heavy and hardening, that Cas wove his fingers into Dean's hair, eyes wide.

The small sounds that fell from Cas's mouth hit Dean differently this time. They quickly grew more desperate, both men feeding off the emotions tearing into their shared mind, fervor increasing as they gradually forgot to keep their barriers erected. 

But shared mind be damned, Dean was shocked when Cas whined, "Dean, fuck, please fuck me."

Oh, _fuck._ He moaned around Cas's cock, before pulling off and panting, "Are you sure?"

Cas magicked the lube from the nightstand with a grumpy look and threw it next to Dean where he knelt between Cas's legs. "Ok then," Dean breathed. As he warmed the lube, rubbing it between his fingers, he murmured, “Cas. You gotta tell me if I hurt you, ok? If something’s too much, if you want something else-”

“Dean.” Cas’s voice was teasing, but stern. “If you don’t put your fingers in me right the fuck now, I will open myself up, and I don’t know if I have the patience to wait for you to pass the lube.” Dean smirked, circling Cas’s hole lightly, trying to ready himself more than he was trying to ready Cas, who must’ve seen the worry in Dean’s mind, because he amended quietly, “I will. I promise. I’ll tell you everything.”

And then he rolled his hips a little, fucking himself down on Dean’s finger and breathed an, “Oh fuck,” and Dean had to squeeze the base of his dick to keep from coming right then and there.

Cas was ready for two fingers in a surprisingly short amount of time, then three, Dean pressing kisses to every inch of skin he could reach as Cas writhed and panted softly, lost in the smell and taste and feel.

Cas pulled him out of his head, sliding off the bed and tugging him to his feet. Dean quirked a brow but obeyed and Cas answered without words, settling himself slowly onto Dean’s cock, back pressed warm to Dean’s chest. A stream of curses slipped from Dean’s mouth before he knew what he was saying.

Cas understood. Understood Dean needed to feel him, warm and solid and vibrant.

Cas rolled his hips and groaned. The muscles in his legs and hips flexed as he rode Dean, slowly at first. Being buried inside Cas was the best way to remember: he wasn’t dead. He was here, sweaty and sassy and beautiful. He was Dean’s.

“Yours,” Cas murmured. He angled his body and turned over his shoulder to kiss Dean sweetly and as soon as Dean’s eyes cleared and he grinned, Cas slammed down into his lap and Dean curled into him.

“Fuck! Cas!”

“That is the point,” Cas sassed breathlessly, but they were both too winded, too overwhelmed to continue the conversation, and settled into a rhythm punctuated by groans and the occasional throaty yell. Dean bit and licked along Cas’s shoulders and neck as Cas reached behind him and fisted Dean’s hair.

Between the adrenaline and the low barriers, they were both close.

“Cas,” he begged. _Need to see you._

The thought had barely fluttered into their mind before Cas was sliding off his lap and manhandling him backwards onto the bed. The feeling of letting go of control, of trusting implicitly, was suddenly too much for Dean, and he let out a sob, but Cas was back on him, sliding down his length and leaning down to kiss him, hands at his face, his neck, smoothing, comforting. “I know, Dean. Sweetheart, I know.”

Before Dean could unravel completely, Cas pressed a hand to the base of his throat, laying claim, and the pressure simultaneously calmed Dean down and set fire to his blood. The feeling of _too much_ sighed into the background as absolute lust took over, an Dean smiled into it, enjoying the rasp of his breath beneath Cas’s palm.

Cas’s thighs gripped Dean’s hips tightly, and Dean watched in awe as Cas worked himself up and down on Dean’s cock. The sight of the beautiful man commanding such pleasure from Dean’s own body had him sitting up abruptly, one hand loosely circling Cas’s dick and giving him something to fuck up into. The change was immediate, a burst of light behind both of their eyes as Cas doubled over, kissing Dean roughly.

“Please tell me you’re close,” Dean hissed. He didn’t think he’d be able to hold out much longer, between the shared sensations and the visual of such a glorious man above him. He didn’t have to wait long.

Cas’s response was simply a whimper and a groan, and suddenly, released slammed into both of them. Dean mewled as every muscle in his body pulled tight, while Cas shuddered over and over before slumping forward and pinning Dean to the bed.

Dean wrapped him in his arms, one arm around Cas’s back, one holding his head still where his face was pressed into Dean’s neck. He had the sudden desire to crawl inside Cas’s body, to press together until they were one, until Cas was a part of him, until he couldn’t lose him anymore.

Cas shift as if to speak, but instead of opening his mouth, he opened his mind. Completely.

The first tier was sensation and Dean sunk into them. He felt the cool of sweat on Cas’s skin and the way Dean’s own body was keeping Cas warm. He felt vague twinges in various places throughout Cas’s body, wounds from the fight newly healed. He felt the heady, deep satisfaction of the orgasm, the glorious ache.

As he sunk through that level and into emotion, Dean noted vaguely how comfortable, how right this felt. There was a little bit of fear dancing red at the periphery, but other than that, Cas mind was awash in affection, love, hope. Dean felt himself smile and opened his own mind, showing Cas how similarly they were feeling. A warm press of thanks was the last thing he felt before sinking into memory.

He’d been here before when Cas had been trying to convince him of his own importance, but he knew that last time, Cas had been carefully controlling what he’d seen. Now, he was left to his own devices. Little rivulets of recollection trickled past Dean, but they were incomplete: the restaurant, Dean’s face, dinner from a few nights ago. He could sense larger memories lurking in the corners, but this was too personal for Dean to go poking around, so he held his mind still and waited for Cas to offer something up or push him in a direction.

A memory unfolded next to him and Dean watched, excitement blossoming in his chest.

He was lying on the ground, looking up at a ceiling made of some sort of twiggy hay, and bundles of dried plants hung from twine above him. There was a small fire outside the door and Dean rolled over to peek at the tall figure standing over it. Her eyes were a familiar blue.

The smile she gave as she turned over her shoulder was breathtaking. “Castiel,” she murmured, extending a hand. “Good morning, angel.” Her aura was blue and hazy soft and Dean wanted to wrap himself up in it.

The air was cool, crisp on his face as he stumbled out of the little hut and into the dawn. Castiel’s mother handed him a cup of something steaming and he sipped at it, enjoying the bitterness that danced across his tongue.

They ate dry salty strips of meat, that his mother cooked over the fire, with their fingers, and Cas’s mother sang absently as she worked. After, they walked a short way to a cliff over looking the sea and watched the sunrise, her arm wrapped firmly around him. It was a totally normal memory but every moment, every breath, every flavor was infused with such adoration, such joy, such nostalgic homesickness.

As they surfaced from the memory, Dean could feel the ache in Cas’s chest, a quiver of discomfort, of nakedness, so he opened his mind and offered up a memory of his own.

It was the Christmas before Mary had died. Dean remembered sitting on the floor in front of the Christmas tree wrapped in a terrycloth towel, hair still damp from rolling in the snow. Dean had insisted that he sit by Sammy, tiny and chubby, grabbing at his little toes from where he lay on a couch cushion next to Dean.

Dean had proudly “helped” Sam open his gifts before his own. While the baby didn’t care about the onesie or the toys, he could not get enough of Dean launching little balls of wrapping paper into the air. Sometimes the paper fell on Sam, sometimes on Dean, once on Mary who just laughed proudly and whipped it at John. Sam was giggling so hard little spit bubbles gurgled from his mouth and Dean was smiling so broadly it hurt.

Cas and Dean were both shaken from the memories as Cas chuckled. “Show off.”

Dean pressed his face into Cas’s hair to hide his smile. “Shut up. I’m still mad at you.”

“No you’re not,” Cas teased, then paused. “No. You’re not,” he repeated, quietly awed, as he combed through Dean’s mind. “Why aren’t you mad?”

“Not worth it,” Dean mumbled. “You’re safe, I’m fine, I love you. Plus, it’s kinda hard to be angry after sex like that.”

Cas’s laugh was low and deep. “I love you, too.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, sweet, movin' right along.

“Dean. Dean!”

The urgency in Sam’s voice yanked him from slumber so roughly that Dean startled out of bed and hit the floor with a thump.

“Ev’thing ok?” Cas mumbled from where his face was smashed into the pillow, and attempted to struggle out of the cocoon of blankets he’d created sometime in the night before giving up and passing out again.

Dean hopped to the door pulling on his boxers as he went.

“What’s wrong?” he rasped as he yanked the door open.

But Sam didn’t looked scared or angry, he looked...well a little manic, but excited.

“I found it, I found him, it was here, right under our noses-”

Dean yawned as Sam pushed past him into the bedroom.

“It smells like sex in here,” Sam muttered, scrunching up his face and all Dean offered was a deadpan “duh” face. “Right, ok, gross. Remember this?”

The book was clearly ancient: cracking spine, yellowed pages, flaking lettering, and Dean recognized it immediately.

“It was mom’s,” he said quietly, and reached for it.

He hadn’t looked at it in years, not since before he’d met Cas and had his world was upended, and now that he was actually using his witch sight there were some marked differences from the way he’d seen the book before. There was a zing of energy in his palms as he took the tome in hand, not a warm buzz like Cas, but metallic and sharp. Not bad. Just cold. Indifferent.

The text was indecipherable, and though there were a few pictures scattered throughout, mostly of various creatures that Dean was fairly certain didn’t exist, he had no idea what the book was about.

“What about it, Sam? It’s gibberish.”

Sam nodded happily. “Yes. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Then what?”

“Look.”

Sam grabbed the book and flicked through the pages until he found what he was searching for.

Handing it back to Dean he said, “Look familiar?”

The sketch was faded but Dean saw immediately what Sam was so excited about.

“Cas. Cas!” Book in hand, Dean bounced on the bed and shook Cas awake. The dark haired man blinked owlishly, and Dean couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him before saying, “Dude. Look at this.”

Struggling to sit up, Cas took the book. “Where did you...who...how did you...Oh my god.”

He sat up in earnest then, and Sam angled his body away from the bed just in case the sheet slipped any lower.

“The book was my mother’s, but Sam just found this picture. What do you think?”

Cas’s eyes were electric as he sprung out of bed.

“Oh my god,” Sam muttered, covering his eyes.

Cas struggled to pull on sweatpants with one hand as he studied the book with the other. “Sam. You’re brilliant.”

“What is it?” Sam’s face was still buried in his hands.

Cas was pacing, clearly lost in thought. “Old. Very old. Almost as old as me. But who…” He snapped his fingers and the book caught fire, though the flames were a weird green color.

“Cas!” Dean shouted, and went to rip the flaming book from his hands, but Cas appeared unphased.

“Relax, Dean. Translation spell,” Cas murmured, still absorbed in the text, but then he frowned. “It’s not working. I can’t read it.”

Dean allowed him a few more minutes of muttering and pacing and spells before Sam quirked an anxious eyebrow at him and Dean stopped Cas in his path with hands on his bare shoulders.

“Cas,” he said cautiously. “Will you please explain what the hell is going on?”

There must’ve been something in Dean’s expression that he wasn’t aware of, fear maybe, because Cas eyes cleared immediately and he closed the book and pressed a palm to Dean’s chest. “I apologize. This book is...I didn’t believe this book existed.”

“Huh?”

Cas sighed. “Coffee.” He looked to Sam then back to Dean. “Coffee? Coffee.”

“O...k?” Dean said slowly, but Cas was gone, having folded space and dropped himself into the kitchen.

Dean tugged on a shirt and Sam turned to him with a grin.

“What?”

“Dude. Your boyfriend is ripped.”

Blushing furiously Dean hid his smile as he dug in the closet for some shorts. “Ah. Yeah. Didn’t know you swung that way.”

He was totally joking but Sam nodded absently. “I mean, I’m not blind.”

“Jesus, Sammy.”

Sam grinned at him, then slapped him on the back in a very Dean gesture. “Nice goin’, man.”

\--

By the time Sam and Dean made it to the kitchen, Cas had made coffee.

“What, no breakfast?” Dean snarked, but Cas looked up at him sweetly.

“You’re a much better cook.”

Dean rolled his eyes but was sure Cas felt his smile as they kissed. “Yeah, yeah. So. What’s the deal with this book.”

“I can’t read it.” It was blunt, unhelpful, and so very Cas.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock, none of us can. But I’m assuming there’s something more?”

There was a cracking sound and Dean felt a sting on his ass. When he turned around, Cas was rewinding a dish towel into a makeshift whip and smiling devilishly. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

Dean stifled a snort and shook his head. “Nothing. Not a thing. Do go on.”

“You guys are gross,” Sam observed from his spot near the coffee maker.

Ignoring him in favor of dicing up peppers for an omelette, Dean waited for Cas to continue.

“I believe this book was written by Vivaine.”

“Your ex?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Uh oh,” Sam muttered softly, but again he was ignored.

“She did cast the spell, remember? Her magic is the reason the demon not only exists but targets your family.”

“And the reason you’re the bionic man,” Dean added. Cas looked confused and Dean just rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

Cas gave a small smile and added, “She meant it as a curse, but lately it feels more and more like a gift.”

Sam made a gagging noise in the background and Dean and Cas only barely managed to stop staring at each other.

“Anyway. I can’t read it, but I think I know who can.”

\--

“I’m going.” Charlie said.

“Charlie, it is of course very exciting, but quite dangerous, too.”

“Don’t care. Don’t you dare try to talk me out of this, Castiel. You won’t win. Tell ‘im, Dean.”

Dean glanced up from the book he was skimming absently. “I have no idea what either of you are taking about. What is a mage circle, why are we going, and why is Charlie popping a boner about it?”

“The Mage Circle,” Cas corrected, “Is an assembly of some of the most powerful magic workers in the history of time. Their meetings are held irregularly, and we’ll have to request an invitation, but they will almost certainly have some knowledge of how to read this book.”

“Cool,” Dean responded at the same time Charlie begged, “Please?”

Cas observed her for a long minute. His face gave nothing away, but Dean could tell he’d already decided to let her come along. “Fine.”

“Hallelujah!” Charlie shouted, then launched herself into Cas’s arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I gotta tell Jo!” and she ran out of the room in a flurry of red hair and limbs.

“Wow,” Dean deadpanned before turning to Cas. “Why aren’t you in the assembly?” A muscle twitched in Cas’s jaw. “You’re arguably the most famous magician of all time. You should totally be in the Circle.”

Cas gave a gentle smile. “I think Jesus is a little more famous.”

“Jesus?” Dean squeaked, and that got a laugh from Cas.

“There are many in the Circle who are not what your culture traditionally considers to be magicians. Da Vinci, for example. You’ll see.”

“But still,” Dean argued. “You’re...you.”

He shrugged. “I decided against it. Leave it alone, Dean,” he added when he saw the look in Dean’s eyes. “We’ve have a fair amount of preparations to do before midnight.”

“Midnight?”

Cas’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Witching hour.”

\--

“This is insane,” Dean muttered.

Cas ignored him.

“Salt and iron are both protective elements. They’re not entirely necessary this time around since we’ll simply be speaking to someone, but better safe than sorry. Plus, it’ll be good practice for you.”

“Practice?”

Casually, Cas moved from the circle of salt he’d just made to the table where they were storing supplies. “I’d like for you to know how to do this in case I can’t for any reason. Contacting the Circle has some risks, but it also has some distinct advantages. So. Pay attention.”

Dean complied, which meant he was staring as Cas swiped a knife across his forearm.

“What the fuck!” Pain from Cas and fear from Dean bounced back and forth between them as Dean leapt forward and grabbed him by the wrist. “What are you doing?”

Cas gently pressed him away. “Calm down, Dean. There’s a reason.”

With his dominant hand now covered in blood, Cas began drawing strange shapes on the wall. It made more sense now, why he had chosen an unused classroom in one of the emptier wings of the house, as they were covering the whole damn thing in iron and salt and blood.

Cas sketched one symbol per wall, bleeding way more profusely than Dean was comfortable with. Over and over he reminded himself that Cas was invincible, that he’d seen him literally stabbed in the gut and survive. It didn’t really help.

“Ya done?” Dean said lowly as Cas finished and casually observed his handiwork.

“Mm-hm. With the sigils at least,” he replied, not even looking.

Roughly, Dean whipped him around and grabbed his arm over the cut. While the gesture was indelicate, Dean took absolute care, focusing singularly on mending the wound from the inside out as painlessly as possible. It took less than a minute, and though Dean was sweating at the end, he felt significantly better.

Cas was frowning at him, but rather than argue, Dean just opened his mind. He felt Cas sift through the confusion, the fear, the guilt, and when Cas finally shook himself out of Dean’s brain he leaned in a and kissed him softly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against Dean’s mouth. “They’re protective sigils, keeping us and the rest of the house safe. I’m used to this kind of thing Dean. I can’t be harmed." Brushing gentle fingertips through the hair at Dean’s temple he repeated, “Don’t worry.”

Jokingly, Dean mumbled, “Come on. I gotta. It’s one of my best skills.”

Cas pinched his arm, hard, as a warning about such self-deprecating comments. Checking the time, Cas plucked a bowl of ingredients from the table and carefully stepped inside the ring, settling cross-legged in the center.

“Alright. Here we go. Don’t cross the circle, ok?”

Dean frowned but nodded. “You’re the boss.”

With a wave, Cas set the materials in the bowl aflame and the smoke immediately began swirling around him in a circular pattern as he chanted. The spell was in Latin and by far the most complicated piece of magic Dean had ever witnessed.

It was so complicated, in fact, that unlike most magic, he couldn’t quite figure out what he was looking at or what it meant. He saw Cas sitting there, but he also felt him at a great distance. He felt Cas’s power reaching out, but it wasn’t through matter or space like a transportation spell. Through time, maybe, but that didn’t quite fit either. It was like he was trying to reach a person or place that didn’t quite exist.

Turns out, the guy he was trying to reach was totally real.

And loud.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooorry it's taking so long to get this updated. I'm a teacher and school just started and I suck and I'm sorry. We're close tho, so hold on!!
> 
> <3

“Holy shit,” Dean gasped.

“Castiel!” The creature shimmering in the smoke spoke Cas’s name with fondness and familiarity. “It’s been a while!”

“Gabriel,” Cas responded with a small smile. “Yes. Nearly two hundred years.” 

“Only two hundred?” Gabriel murmured. “Hm. Feels like longer. How’ve you been?” At this, the creature sat down across from Cas, giant, tawny wings folded behind him, then answered it’s own question. “You’ve been well.” Cas shifted awkwardly, and Gabriel squinted at him. “You’re aura. It’s...radiant.” 

“I’ve...met someone.” Dean was surprised at the shyness in Cas’s voice and Gabriel grinned. 

“Let me see him.”

“He’s...not here right now,” Cas muttered tersely and Dean was surprised. He wasn’t exactly sure what this thing was, but it was powerful. Didn’t seem like a great idea to lie to it. Fortunately, Gabriel didn’t seem offended. In fact, he laughed. 

“You’re a terrible liar, Castiel. It’s quite an attractive trait. You want to bring him with you to the meeting?”

Cas looked pissed now. “How did you - ”

“Oh come on! If it were only you, you’d have just crashed the meeting with as little ceremony as possible. You’re requesting an invitation. Which means…” And here, Gabriel’s voice trailed off, eyes distant, as if he were trying to see Dean from inside the circle. “He’s got to have some sort of magic about him.”

“There’s another, as well, that wishes to join us. One of my apprentices. More as a life experience than means to an end I think,” he added absently. 

“No can do. You and your boy only. But I’ll tell you what. If he can get into the salt circle I’ll approve him, no questions asked. And no helping, Castiel.”

Cas looked nervous as he turned over his shoulder. 

_Can you see the spell?_

Dean nodded.

_You must be very careful, Dean. The spell I cast is a warding spell. If you don’t pick it apart properly - ”_

_My ass is grass. Got it._

Perhaps thankfully, Cas was too busy puzzling over the expression to worry too much as Dean began poking at the spell that wrapped the salt circle. When he first grazed his fingers over it, it burned and he hissed, recoiling. Though it was painful, it was also illuminating. 

The spell felt like a brick wall. There was no point in going after the bricks of magic, they were impossibly old and dangerously strong, but the magic that wove the blocks together...he thought he might have something there. 

Dean allowed his mind to clear, trying not to overthink. It seemed that in these situations it was best to trust his body and his magic, let it take care of him. Focusing on his breath, he sunk deeper into himself, and extended a hand.

This time, he wiggled his fingers into the mush of spell between bricks, pushing through it. Watching as if from outside himself, he noticed his own magic coating his fingers and pulsing through the spell ahead of him. 

As he pressed through the first bit of mortar he realized it was less like a wall and more like a patchwork quilt. He could cut along one edge, hopefully, and peel it back. 

It worked like a charm. Before stepping through the hole he’d made, he let protective magic wash over his body just in case, the slid through with ease. He sealed the tear back up carefully before flopping down next to Cas, exhausted but pleased, the tingle of magic soothing him.

Gabriel made a whistling noise then stopped and stared back and forth between them. “Whoa,” he said softly. 

Dean stared at him in earnest now, able to see aspects of him he hadn’t noticed from outside the circle, namely that he was insanely bright, similar to Cas when they first met, and Dean had to squint while his vision adjusted. 

“What are you?” he asked finally. 

“Guess,” Gabriel teased, delighted.

“Gabriel,” Cas chastised at the exact same time Dean said, “You’re the archangel. Aren’t you?”

Gabriel looked impressed and replied, “I can see why you bonded to him Castiel. He’s something else.” He paused. “Arthur’s bloodline. But better. A righteous man.”

Dean scoffed but Cas smiled proudly at him and wound their fingers together. 

“So. Dean entered the circle. Do we have an invitation?” Cas's voice was curt, to the point, and Dean got the impression he was trying desperately not to kiss him.

Gabriel nodded. “You’re just in time. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” He paused long enough to see Cas nod, and then he and the circle spell fell away into ash on the floor. 

Cas immediately turned to Dean and tackled him to the floor. “I’m sorry for every comment I ever made about training. You are fucking amazing. That was a fucking _blood spell_ and you dismantled it like it was a glamour. You. Are. Incredible. I love you.” 

Dean laughed to hide his desire to cry as Cas, in a single moment, said everything he’d ever wanted to hear.

\--

Dean was pretty sure he’d gone nuts. The spell Cas had cast wasn’t a transportation spell, he’d just driven them all crazy.

The air was singing as their bodies tore through it, faster than Dean was comfortable thinking about. He could see the strands of magic and molecules thrumming, shimmering. And then there was a metallic scent, then flowers, then apple pie and perfume. It smelled like his mother. It smelled like home.

They hit the ground, Cas standing and Dean toppling to one knee. 

“Dean,” Cas said quietly, concerned.

“What?” he grunted.

Gentle fingertips brushed at Dean’s cheeks, wiping away the tears he hadn't realized had fallen.

“What did you smell?”

Surprise got the truth out of him before he could figure out how to withhold it. “Apple pie and my mother’s perfume. Why? Haven’t smelled that in over two decades.” He took a shaky breath, but then a voice rang out over them.

“Scent and memory are so telling with you humans,” it said.

“So it’s what? Some sort of freaky interview?” Dean called, squinting into the blindingly bright mist trying to discern...anything, much less whatever was speaking. 

Cas elbowed him in the ribs. “Polite,” he hissed, but the fog and the light were lifting, and suddenly Dean could see. 

“Oh holy shit,” he muttered.

“What you miss most,” the woman explained, but Dean had already forgotten the question in favor of staring, awestruck, around the room. 

The hall was circular, open and towering, with huge windows carved into the stone and light filtered through them in rays. It was an incredibly awe-inspiring edifice, or would’ve been except the entire room was scattered with blankets, couches, pillows, chaises, and a few solidified clouds, upon which were scattered a truly distracting assortment of creatures; some of them looked human, some only humanoid, and some weren't even trying to blend in.

The thing that drew Dean most strongly, though, was what he noticed rushing over the floor. Like liquid mercury but feather light, like a dark moonstone, like reflections on midnight water, pure, unchanneled magic slipped and slid over the floor like a fog, as high as his ankles. Crouching back down, Dean scooped up a handful and watched it flow over his fingers, smoky and sleek. It was cool and oddly comforting in his palm, and after a moment of getting used to him, it wrapped itself around Dean’s hand. 

“Your boy’s not bad, Cassie,” Gabriel’s voice rang out across the hall from where he was sprawled on a rather gaudy red velvet couch.

“His name,” Cas said, stern and proud, “Is Dean Winchester.” 

There was a murmuring, a rustling among the lounging deities, and then a woman unfolded herself from her sofa and strode towards them. 

Magic twined around her legs and parted respectfully, but Dean’s pang of fear was assuaged when she extended her hand and announced, “Welcome, Dean Winchester,” before turning to Cas and embracing him. “Castiel. My angel. It’s good to see you again, and looking so well.”

Dan watched cautiously, but Cas hugged her back, eyes closed and smiling. “Chel (1). It’s been too long.” 

Chel turned back to him read the emotion he hadn't even realized he was projecting. “Don’t worry darling boy. We can all see the bond. He belongs to you and you to him. Castiel is an old friend, that’s all.”

Blushing, Dean said, “Sorry. And sorry again, but who are you?” 

She blinked at him kindly then said, “Draw up a seat for the two of you, and we’ll talk,” and led Cas toward the crowd.

The rest of the room sat poised, still, and Dean felt the silence in his bones. It was clearly a test, though, so instead of arguing, he simply planted his feet more firmly and closed his eyes.

Working magic was easy as breathing here. It flowed around the room, magnified and reflected by the various deities, and came to Dean obediently. He pictured what he wanted: a wooden bench with thick cushions, that had spent twenty years on the back porch of his parents’ house. With a twitch of his fingers, he conjured the slats, which began weaving themselves together, then pulled the cushions into being, letting them fall atop the seat.

He checked his work. Not bad, though the shade of wood wasn’t quite what he was hoping for. With a thought he sent the bench sailing to where Casa stood between Chel and Gabriel, beaming. Cas’s aura was visible here, and it seemed to brighten as Dean smiled back. 

Chel beckoned. “Gabriel told us you got through Castiel’s blood circle. You are human, no? How is that possible?”

Dean sighed nervously as he flopped down next to Cas. “I don’t know.”

A young man (2) lounging on a blanket opened a hand and tossed a spell toward him. “See if you can get your hand through this.” It hung like a mist in front of Dean, but he could see it was much more dangerous than it’s appearance.

“If I pass your test will you answer our questions?” Dean asked, arms folded tightly across his chest.

Cas nudged him again but the young man just smiled, surprised and pleased. 

“Alright,” he said.

“Alright,” Dean replied before taking a look at the spell. Unlike Cas’s bloodspell that hung like a patchwork quilt, this spell was a sheet of racing molecules, pinpricks of matter constantly on the move. He froze them, swiped them to the side, and carefully slid his fingers into the empty space he’d created. 

The room exploded with whispered discussions as the spell disappeared. Dean was a heartbeat away from being overwhelmed, but he forced himself to sit still and silent, to wait. Cas must’ve felt his discomfort though, and slid a hand into his, soft and warm, and Dean felt his chest lighten. They were here for a reason.

And it had to work.

“I thought you got out of the game, Mage,” said a beautiful, dark-skinned man (3) lying across a futon. His voice seemed needlessly cold, but before Cas could answer, the woman (4) next to the beautiful man said, “Ah, but something has changed. Yes? Things are different now.” She peered at them, shoving her red hair out of her eyes, and added again as an afterthought, “So very different.”

Dean had no idea how he was supposed to answer, so instead he looked to Cas, who was blushing and staring at his knees. _What is going on?_ , he thought, but Cas just shook his head.

“Alright,” said an older man (5), sprawled in a comfortable arm chair. He was staring at the pair on the couch with barely concealed irritation, but turned a kinder look to Dean. “What do you wish to know?”

Cas pulled the book Sam had found from seemingly nowhere and set it on his lap before thinking to Dean, _You should do this._.

Dean jerked nervously. _Cas, man, I don't know, I'm not very-_

_You're perfect._

Clearing his throat and trying not to roll his eyes, Dean began.

“This book...was my mother’s. We think it holds information about how to take out the creature that’s been killing my family for centuries, but none of us can read it. We were hoping one of you might be able to help.

From his perch on a plush looking rug, a man extended his hand and the book went flying from Cas’s lap into his hands. Flipping through, he found the page with no problem and scanned it, then sighed. “It’s what it always is,’ he said quietly, sadly.

“Which is…”

The man gave him a rueful smile and said, “Sacrifice.”

“Of what?”

“A life for a life, Dean Winchester.”

"What else? A spell? Anything?"

The man shook his head. "No specifics, I'm sorry. Just that killing off the creature will cost a life."

“No!” Dean said louder than he intended, then backed off apologetically. “There has to be something else...some other way...”

“Believe me,” the man sighed. “I’m no stranger to sacrifice. If there were…”

“Who are you?” Dean demanded.

“Call me Jay.”

Cas mumbled, “Of Nazareth. King.”

“Jesus?” Dean spat, incredulous but awed and the man shrugged. 

“It elicits such strong reactions, and besides…such terrible things have been done for that name...It’s not really what I want to associate with anymore. So. Jay. For now.”

“Ok…”

_This is nuts._

“Castiel,” Gabriel said quietly. “You knew this from the beginning. That it would take sacrifice to end it.”

Cas finally looked up from he and Dean’s linked fingers and croaked, “I had hoped...there was another way.”

Chel nodded, sadly. “And I. But the book...it was written by the witch who cast the spell. This isn’t second hand information.”

“I know,” Cas nodded.

“Perhaps we’ll see you soon then, my friend,” the old man said.

“Thank you, Leo, for the welcome, but if this is to end...I may need some time away.”

“Understood,” Leo grunted kindly, and the redhaired woman said, “This will be interesting. The boy has no intention of letting this happen.”

She wasn’t wrong. There was no way Dean was going to let Cas give his life for this, no way he was going to lose him. The point of all of this had been to find a solution, not to cower behind another excuse, and before he knew it, he was standing, pulling Cas to his feet by their joined hands. 

“Thank you for your time,” he stated, the most polite he’d been since they arrived. “Any other advice you can give us?” 

“Come here boy.” A cool voice (6) echoed over the crowd and Cas’s grip tightened, but Dean extricated himself and moved towards the sound. 

In a room full of deities, she appeared to be as close to in charge as anyone. Her seat looked more like a throne than anything, and as Dean approached he could feel a crackle in the air, the charge before a lightning storm, so as he reached her, he dropped to one knee. It was there, resting at her feet, that he realized the room had fallen silent. 

“Look at me.” 

Dean complied. She reached down and pressed a hand to his cheek and he felt the raw power sizzling just behind the layer of flesh. “So remarkable, you humans. Foolish. But brave.” Sighing, she sat back in her chair. “Dean Winchester, if this chapter is to be ended, someone must die.”

All he could think to do was grind his teeth - he wasn’t about to argue with this woman. 

“And yet…” She shook her head and laughed. “I wish I knew why, but I’m pulling for you, boy. Maybe it’s the bond.” She gestured to Cas. “Or maybe it’s your lineage, I always was fond of Arthur...Regardless, I have gift for you both,” and she leaned down and whispered but one sentence in his ear.

Eyes widening in surprise, Dean found the good sense to say, “Thank you,” and then she dismissed him, them, and Cas was hugging a few people, and Jesus gave Dean a pat on the shoulder - what was his life? - and then Cas took his hand again, and the room was fading and the light was dimming and the smell of herbs and blood rushed in as they crumpled on the floor of the darkened classroom. 

They went to bed. There was nothing else to do. Too exhausted to rehash the event, too scared to argue, they curled around one another beneath the blankets and Cas pressed kiss after kiss into Dean’s hairline as they drifted off, and Dean heard the goddess’s voice as clearly as when she’d whispered it, her gift that was not a gift but maybe, instead, an answer.

_“What you need, you have always had.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Ix Chel: (Mayan: [iʃˈt͡ʃel]) is the 16th-century name of the aged jaguar goddess of midwifery and medicine in ancient Maya culture.  
> (2) Týr: (/ˈtɪr/;[1] Old Norse: Týr [tyːr]) is a god associated with law and heroic glory in Norse mythology,  
> (3 & 4): Máni (Old Norse/Icelandic "moon"[1]) is the personification of the moon in Norse mythology. & Sól (Old Norse "Sun")[1] or Sunna (Old High German, and existing as an Old Norse and Icelandic synonym) is the Sun personified in Germanic mythology.  
> (5): Leonardo da Vinci: (Italian: [leoˈnardo da ˈvintʃi] ( listen); 15 April 1452 – 2 May 1519) was an Italian polymath.  
> (6) Coatlicue (/kwɑːtˈliːkweɪ/; Classical Nahuatl: Cōātl īcue, pronounced [koːaːˈtɬiːkʷe]), also known as Teteoh innan (Classical Nahuatl: Tēteoh īnnān, pronounced [teːˌteoʔ iːˈnːaːn]), is the Aztec goddess who gave birth to the moon, stars, and Huitzilopochtli, the god of the sun and war. The goddesses Tocih “our grandmother”, and Cihuacoatl “snake woman”, the patron of women who die in childbirth, were also seen as aspects of Coatlicue.


	14. Chapter 14

They didn’t wait. They couldn’t bear to.

Dean wouldn’t let him go alone, and Cas didn’t argue. He knew better now. Just in time for there to be no time left. 

_Please understand. Please don’t hate me. Please forgive me._

The most terrible thing was that Dean understood. He couldn’t ask Cas to spend the rest of his life aching with guilt because Dean was too much of a coward to let him go; Dean would be the one to spend the rest of his life aching instead. At least it would be shorter than Cas’s time left.

They chose a place far out of the way, a clearing in the woods a few miles from the house and summoned the creature with breath and with blood. It didn’t take much, a few words in Latin and a blade swiped across a palm (Dean insisted it be his.) 

_Out of time,_ Dean thought absently. _Always out of time._

The demon appeared, clearly having made the effort to look slightly less dessicated, a creepy, terrifying version of dressing up for a fancy event.

“Gross,” Dean spat reflexively and the thing laughed at him. 

“You think me hideous? You should see what your boy is about to become.”

Cas’s hands were strong and sturdy where they caught Dean around the waist as he lunged towards the thing, sacrificial knife extended. 

“No, Dean.”

He cursed under his breath and sagged into Cas’s embrace. 

“Sorry. I just…”

“I know, dear one. I know." Kissed the back of Dean's neck before releasing him and shouted, “Get to it!” The creature hadn’t made a single move toward them. “I surrender! I pay the blood price you feel Arthur’s descendants owe you. It’s yours!” His voice cracked. “You win!”

“Yesss Enchanter,” the thing hissed. “But first...

There was a change in pressure of the air, and a snap where the molecules were pushed aside, and a woman appeared. Dean felt Cas twitch where they stood shoulder to shoulder, but he didn’t have to ask. He recognized her before Cas even spoke her name. 

“Vivaine.”

“Castiel.” The crackle of power in her voice made Dean want to flinch but he restrained himself.

Her aura was complex, a green fog that raced over her skin, but it seemed kind of...solid, part of her physical presence in a more visible way than he was used to. Perhaps she was simply unused to manifesting physically. Dean got the sense she was uncomfortable in her own skin. Though her appearance was clearly held together by strong threads of magic, she was still quite beautiful, especially as her expression began to shift from vengeful to wondrous as she observed the two men. 

“I had heard...but it’s remarkable,” she murmured to no one in particular, then straightened. “Have you come to pay your dues?”

“I’m ready. It’s been long enough.” Cas sounded, for the first time since Dean had known him, every bit as old as he was. 

She beamed. “It seems I’ve won you at last.” 

The demon laughed again, a horrifying cackling sound, but Dean barely heard. He was staring at Cas, overwhelmed by how beautiful he looked, how heavy the weight on his shoulders, and the reality of what was happening. She couldn’t take him. Not yet. There had to be something he could do. They were supposed to have years. _He_ was supposed to have years with Cas, and instead, just months? Moments?

The magic between them had flared up since Vivaine’s entrance, twisting off he and Cas’s skin and twining over to the other. It was brighter, like it understood it might not be needed again after today, and was trying to make the most of the time it had left.

“You’ll set them free,” Cas said to her, not a question but a command. Dean knew he was talking about the souls of his family, and he ached for them, ached for him, could barely breathe.

“I will. Your guilt will be washed clean Merlin.”

“Don’t,” he muttered roughly. “That’s not my name anymore.”

“No of course not. You’re Castiel to him aren’t you.”

“I’ve always been Castiel. You preferred the title. He prefers the man.”

She snorted, clearly insulted, and stepped forward. “Very well. _Castiel_. It’s time.”

When he turned to Dean his eyes were shining with unshed tears. “My love,” he murmured, and suddenly Dean remembered what the daayan had asked, what seemed like forever ago. 

_“Could you let him go?” and Cas had replied, without pause, “To save him? In a heartbeat.”_

He cupped Dean’s cheek, but Dean grabbed him by the shirt front and kissed him. “There has to be another way.”

Cas tisked softly and shook his head. “No, dear one. This is as it should be.” In the stillness, he tilted his forehead against Dean’s and said, “I would have liked to marry you, but it’s a different kind of story now, and anyway, mine was never going to have a happy ending. But you...you have a life before you. You will change the world. I love you, Dean Winchester.”

The statement knocked the wind out of Dean, and he didn’t get to respond, frozen with shock as he was, and Cas just smiled sadly and turned back to Vivaine. “Alright. Finish it.”

_I would have liked to marry you some day._

Married. It was something Dean hadn’t even let himself dream of. That was something normal people got to do, real people, with jobs and family. But maybe, just this once...But there wasn’t time…

Time slowed. Dean felt it, as if they had created a vortex, a black hole around the moment. He saw the blades of grass where they buckled under Cas’s feet, the blue of his eyes, the dark shine of his lashes against his cheek. He saw the way Cas’s aura had begun to expand outwards, pulsing, encompassing, glorious. Cas kissed him so softly Dean barely felt it, then gently shoved him away, moving so he could stand, alone, in the center of the clearing. From this vantage point Dean saw the way their magic, he and Cas’s, wrapped desperately around each other, tugging like frantic fingers, pleading. 

Not yet.

What you need, you have always had.

What had he always had? What came before everything else? Magic, perhaps? But if there had been a way out through magic, Cas would’ve found it. What else? 

Dean reached back as far as he could, years and years, back when he had parents, and a home, back when he didn’t know about things that went bump in the night. A memory sprang to mind, a day in summer, out on the lawn, running through the sprinkler. John kept kinking the hose to surprise him, and Mary held a giggling Sammy in her arms, and Dean remembered that feeling, like light, or wings...love. He had felt so loved.

What you need you have always had. 

Vivaine’s hand was extended. It seemed Cas’s gesture was infectious. Love. It was all he had to offer.

Cas’s eyes were closed or he might have stopped him, but as it was there was time for Dean to spring forward, wrapping his arms around Cas and holding him tight. 

The spell hit him at the top of his spine, a shard of ice that melted immediately into blazing heat. He heard Cas scream, a litany of ‘No’s, but Dean didn’t hear them. He was dead. 

He knew that, watching his body from afar. He could see Cas clutching him, sobbing, and Vivaine, hand clapped over her mouth. He waited for a fairy godmother, or some magical creature that would burst on scene and set everything to rights. 

Or an ancient spell to snap into place and bring him back to life.

Or Chel, or Jesus, or Gabriel...

...Anything?...Anyone?...Nothing?

Damn. It hadn’t worked. Dean was a little relieved, to be honest, not to have to live without Cas. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to. The bond was as much a part of him as his mind or his body. Poor Cas, though. He was sobbing, wild pain on his face that Dean had never seen before. Their walls had collapsed when Dean had blocked Vivaine's spell, and now wave after wave of anguish and love and rage from Cas washed over him, but there was no way to send any love or comfort back.

His thoughts were interrupted as the light of their auras around he and Cas’s bodies began growing. 

It was expanding like Cas’s aura had before, this time not just blue, but a myriad of colors and sounds, swelling like a shockwave. It was searingly bright, and the beings in the clearing threw their hands over their eyes (or sockets). It grew faster and stronger, and then burst, ripping through the woods. 

It swept into the demon and into Vivaine, and where it touched, their vessels began to fade. Spirit Dean thought the demon looked relieved, and as it sighed a smile, hundreds of little whorls of light began wisping out of it’s mouth. They shone, almost too bright to look at, hung like stars in the air before falling to the ground in bursts of brightness. Souls. Thank god. It worked. His family was free.

Tearing his eyes away from the sparks in the grass, Dean noticed Cas had stopped crying and had conjured a knife. The look on his face was serious, determined, and for a moment Dean worried for him, but then Cas sliced into his palm, cut Dean’s sleeve open, and slapped his bloody palm into Dean’s shoulder. Bending til his face touched Dean’s chest, Cas began pouring himself out.

Something akin to an aura was flowing from Cas’s hand to Dean’s body, not a spell, just Cas, desperate, pleading, forcing every ounce of his magic into Dean. 

Not his magic, Dean realized. His life.

And it was working.

There was pressure, pressure, pressure, and then a sharp tug from the region of Spirit Dean’s knees, followed by terrible, biting cold, but it was better than the absence of feeling he’d been floating in. It yanked him downward, and then everything was spinning, the worst case of vertigo he’d ever experienced. He was pretty sure he was going to puke.

“Ah! Fuck.” It came out more like a strangled moan, but from his actual throat, and that was more than enough. 

“Dean! Dean, Dean, Dean,” Cas said his name so many times in succession it started to sound like a nonsense word, so Dean reached up to clap a hand over his mouth, or tried to. He ended up haphazardly slapping Cas on the chest with his whole arm, but Cas seemed overjoyed. 

“You fucking dumbass,” Cas gasped. “What were you thinking?!”

Dean tried to laugh but it still sounded like he was a breath away from retching so he swallowed instead and said, “Wanted to get married.” He shrugged, then hissed at the pain in his shoulder and looked down to see a raised, red scar in the shape of Cas’s handprint, smeared with blood. 

“Cas...what did you do?” Looking back to his soulmate - his _soulmate_ \- he realized the aura that hung around Cas now was more blue than white, beautiful, silken navy that shone and rippled like watery fabric. Different from before. “You’re not immortal any more,” Dean whispered.

Cas shook his head, smiling fondly, tears still staining his cheeks. “No. Thank god. And you’re not dead anymore.”

“No. Thank god,” Dean croaked. 

“You’re a stubborn ass.”

“I’ve heard that before, actually...I can't quite remember who would've said it but-”

“Dean Winchester," Cas interrupted. "Will you marry me?”

“Ah!” Dean winced as he shifted and the tender flesh of his handprint scar twinged. “Thought you’d never fucking ask.”

 

\--

 

_Epilogue_

Dean Winchester was laughing. 

Castiel had seen many beautiful things in his time on the planet, but this, without a doubt, was the most exquisite.

They’d been married for almost a month before they could get away for a honeymoon, but for the past few days they’d been literally hopping the globe: Ireland, then Argentina, and for today they were on a tiny beach in New England, lounging, and eating, and in Dean’s case, making friends. 

Sort of.

He was crouched down near the surf where a tiny girl and her equally tiny dog had almost lost their bucket and shovel to the waves, and Dean had rescued them. Ten minutes ago. Now the little girl had commandeered Dean’s assistance with an incredibly architecturally unsound sandcastle, and Dean was laughing at whatever story she was telling him. Castiel could’ve elevated his hearing and tuned in, but it was better this way, watching his beautiful husband giggle and trace something into the sand with his finger.

It was more than he could ask for. He still couldn’t believe, even all these weeks later, that they were both still alive and newly free, for the first time in decades. Well, for Castiel it was more like centuries.

Cas had gone back to the Circle the day before the wedding to talk to Coatlique, the goddess who’d given Dean the “gift” that had saved both of their lives. 

“I am forever in your debt,” he had whispered, kneeling at her feet, but she placed one long finger beneath his chin and raised him to standing. 

“No.” She was so powerful her voice crackled with thunder as the air molecules couldn’t rush before the sound quite quickly enough. “You have owed enough. You wish to repay me? Then live. Long and well. ”

Something in the simplicity of the command, or maybe it was the complexity, had sent tears coursing down his face. 

He’d extended an invitation to the wedding, to Coatlique and the rest of the circle. Jesus, Chel, Da Vinci, and Gabriel had accepted. Dean had spent half the reception murmuring various versions of, “Jesus is at my gay wedding. What is my life?” 

He’d spent the other half of it staring at and dancing with and kissing Castiel, so there were no complaints from his end.

Gabriel had given them the most perfect wedding gift. At one point in the night, Castiel had felt a burst of heat in his chest and looked over to see Dean absently massaging his sternum. He'd felt it too. "What was that for?" Cas asked and Gabriel and given him the most genuine smile he'd ever seen. 

"My wedding present." 

"Which is?" 

Gabe shrugged an in an incredibly Dean-like gesture, rubbed the back of his neck. "A promise." 

"Gabriel," Cas had murmured, warning in his voice. "What did you do?"

Sad, adoring, whiskey brown eyes turned to his. "You're lives...you'll...expire together. The same day, the same hour, the same minute. There will never be a day without him again." 

For a long moment, the two men watched Dean laughing and dancing with Sam and Jo, and Castiel had to dig his nails into his palms to keep himself from weeping, but a sob crept out anyway as he said, "Thank you."

So many things he’d never allowed himself to hope for were now realities. A husband, a family, and ironically, a life granted to him by sacrificing his immortality. 

Dean caught his eye and grinned, which he returned helplessly, and observed where he gestured. He’d cast a solidifying spell to hold the sand in and around the small castle in place despite the waves and the dog and the little girl’s chubby, clumsy limbs. The girl asked Dean a question while looking at Castiel, and whatever his answer was made her smile widely and wave, which Cas returned with vigor. She was precious, and Dean was so good with her. It was too bad they would probably never have kids. Cas would’ve liked to be a parent, and Dean would be the most incredible father.

Then again, Castiel’s entire life was comprised of things he’d thought he’d never have, now his to keep.

Cas watched as Dean jogged back over to him, shoulders smattered with darkening freckles and eyes gleaming. His husband kissed him soundly, then flopped back onto the sheet.

“That was very cute,” Castiel commented, gesturing to where the child and the dog still frolicked in the sand. 

“Right? They’re adorable. I mean, I’m adorable, too, but…” He chuckled at his own joke and Cas pressed a smiling kiss to his cheekbone.

“That you are.”

The sound of surf and gulls washed over their silence for long minutes before Dean offered quietly, “We should do that, someday.”

“What?”

“Have a kid. Or two.”

Castiel thought he might be having a heart attack before realizing it was just joy expanding his chest with such ferocity it ached. “I’d like that very much.”

“You would?” The hope in Dean’s voice was endearing and heartbreaking. 

“Dean, all I want in the world is a life with you. If that includes children, I would be thrilled.” 

“You would?”

“You’re surprised?”

Dean shrugged with a smile, but Cas still pushed him down into the sand and leaned over him. “Beloved,” he whispered, then kissed him with only a little more heat than was probably appropriate for a public beach, but he pulled back quickly enough when Dean whimpered against his lips. 

_You know I love you, right Cas?_

_I know, you shameless sap._

Dean’s eyes widened with faux indignance. _You're my baby daddy._

Cas slapped his chest, confused but sure he should be laughing. _A what?_

Dean shook his head. “Nothing, I’m teasing.”

“Speaking of teasing…” Cas began innocently, trailing a featherlight finger down Dean’s chest, and Dean’s eyes lit up. He pulled Cas down for another kiss before saying, “You want to do the transportation spell, or should I?”

 

\--

 

_Post-Epilogue_

The women walked hand in hand. Ten year anniversary on the turn of the century. The year 2100. Carolyn shook her head in awe. Amazing.

“I love you, incredible woman,” she murmured.

Jordan kissed her cheek. “And I you.” It was one of those perfect sunrises, soft air and golden light, and the waves curled sweetly around their ankles as they walked. Not far in the distance, Carolyn noticed a little mound of sand, strangely intact for the height of the tideline, and she pulled Jordan ahead. 

“Look at this.” It was a little sandcastle, sloppily built but intact. “How cute! 

“What’s it say?” Jordan murmured.

“Where?”

She pointed to the other side of the tiny edifice where letters were scraped into the sand. “Hmmm. I wonder who they were,” she mused as she looked them over. “That’s sweet.” Glancing lovingly at her partner she murmured, "I bet they loved each other very much."

 

_D + C  
Always_

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by far the longest fic I've ever written, and you know what I've learned? I'm still a hopeless goddamn sap for these boys.
> 
>  
> 
> You can find me at seasless.tumblr.com.
> 
> <3


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